


THE GANG SOLVES A MYSTERY

by AlasPoorAndy



Series: the who feat. led zeppelin [1]
Category: Bandom, Led Zeppelin, The Who
Genre: Borderline crack, Brighton - Freeform, Crack, Crack Fic, Fluff, Friendship, Humour, Jeith - Freeform, Led Zeppelin - Freeform, Love Triangles, M/M, Multi, Poger, Road Trip, Road Trips, The Who - Freeform, Unrequited Love, but very serious, towntrey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of a new series! somewhere in the 1960's, the who finds out that led zeppelin is playing nearby, so they decide to take a trip down to see them. shenanigans ensue.</p><p>[28/04/2016 note: i'm going back and editing these chapters cause i'm not satisfied with them, and i'm like, fuck it, u know? so i guess y'all have to re-read it all over again, oh noooo....]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. it begins

“Pete, did you see this?” Roger slid the newspaper across the dining room table to show his bandmate.

Pete, who was chugging enough coffee to energize a horse, paused for a moment to skim through the event listings in the newspaper. “Which one am I looking at, exactly?”

“Led Zeppelin! They’re finally playing near us. We should try and go see them!”

“Nah, I heard they’re just a bunch of dirty hippies,” Pete muttered in disgust. He stood up to go make one more pot of coffee. John, who was standing diligently by his frying pan on the stove, swatted his hand from the coffee maker with his spatula. 

“No more coffee. You actually need something before you wither away,” John ordered.

“Come on, I have to go to work soon,” Pete tried again but John confiscated the can of coffee mix. The four band members were getting really over tired and their patience was running thin. They had slumped into the habit of going to their jobs all day, picking up as many shifts as they could to survive, and then meeting at Pete’s rented house to rehearse all evening and in the early hours of the morning before making breakfast together and heading back to work to do it all again. They were working their arses off writing songs and rehearsing for their sparse live gigs, hoping to save up enough money to record a professional sounding demo and show it to some managers and producers. They were very committed to breaking out and getting their band noticed. This, in Pete’s eyes, meant sacrificing sleep and food here and there.

“If I have to eat brown beans one more time this week, I swear I’ll puke…” Pete muttered, scouring the cupboards he already knew would be empty. 

“Go on, sit down. You can have some of my scrambled eggs,” John told him. Once the two ugly end pieces of toast popped, John sat down at the table with a plate for him and a plate for Pete. The two pieces of bread and the eggs were the last edible thing in Pete’s house. “You really need to get in the habit of buying, you know, actual food? I can’t keep bringing food from my girlfriend’s house to keep you all alive.”

Between bites of surprisingly delicious scrambled egg, Pete muttered back, “I would buy food if I weren’t spending every penny on rent, considering you three practically live here, free of charge.”  


Pete did have a point. The three of them were usually allowed to sleep over a few hours between their cramped rehearsal and work schedules, and helped themselves to food and beer when they needed it.

To further prove his point, Keith came downstairs from the shower, wearing one of Pete’s t-shirts and scrubbing his hair dry with one of Pete’s towels.

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Pete whined. “See what I mean?”

“What?” Keith asked, then looked down at his shirt. “Oh yeah, I hope you don’t mind, I just need to borrow this for a bit.”

Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. John took pity on the poor guy. 

“Alright, from now on, we’ll help you out,” John reassured him. “Keith, since your car is in the best shape, you can be in charge of running out to buy take-away during rehearsals. I’ll get some basic groceries here and there, and Rog, you can buy beer and shampoo or whatever.”

Pete smiled at John, secretly relieved his poor wallet could take a break. Roger was the only one who initially protested before agreeing.

By now they were all sitting around the table, exhausted and quietly eating and sharing sections of the newspaper. The four of them had gotten to the point where they were comfortable spending all their time together, even if it was in comfortable silence. They still fought like brothers or bickered like married couples, but they knew it was just pent up frustration. Usually one person could play the mediator and get some sort of democratic resolution worked out. Each band member just wanted to make the best work possible, which kept everyone motivated to keep going. 

“I really think we should see Led Zeppelin though,” Roger said quietly after a peaceful stretch of silence. “We can get out of the house for the weekend and interact with other human beings for once. Plus, they’re trying to make it big too, we should be making more professional connections. Maybe they’ll even invite us up onstage to play with them, or…”

“It’s not going to work out like a fuckin' fairy tale,” Pete rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I just finish telling you about how much money I don’t have?”

“I dunno, it could be worth it,” John agreed. “Plus, I don’t remember the last time I was out during the day, with like, sunshine and fresh air.”

“I heard the drummer’s a fuckin’ maniac. I want to see what all the hype’s about,” Keith agreed, looking quite excited at the prospect. 

“C’mon, Petey,” Roger grinned. “What do you think?”

Pete sighed. “I dunno…”

“Where's the show?” John asked.

“They’re playing a small club down in Brighton,” Roger read from the newspaper clipping. 

“I love Brighton!” Keith grinned.

“Yeah, and how are we going to afford train tickets? Where are we even sleeping? How much is cover to get into the club? What about food?” Pete groaned. “Plus, I don’t even know if I can get time off from work this weekend, I still need to pay for the sink repair because someone keeps clogging it with curly hair and Dippity-Do.”

“It wasn’t me!” Roger protested to an unconvinced audience.

“Alright, how about we drive down in the old van? It might take us longer but we can sleep in the back and store our stuff in the trunk,” John offered. 

“We can split money for petrol. That would be cheaper, right?” Roger added.

“But,” Pete interjected. “The van’s practically out of commission. It just barely gets me to work. I can’t afford to fix up the engine.”

“I’ll do this one for free,” Roger told him gravely, as if he were a bigger martyr than one of Jesus’ disciples. The rest of them secretly thought that it was about damn time Roger started offering to fix up their cars, considering he worked as a mechanic and did steelwork all the time. “Keith and I finish shifts at work at the same time, the two of us can work on repairing it all this week so it’ll be ready for the weekend.”

Pete looked down at his empty plate, biting his lip and thinking.

“C’mon, mate. What do ya think?” John prodded.

“Alright, alright. I’ll beg my boss for the weekend off,” Pete sighed. “Led Zeppelin better be fuckin’ worth it.”


	2. we gettin' there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the boys hit the road!

Early Saturday morning, the band assembled in Pete’s living room. John arrived from his girlfriend’s house, Keith from home, and Roger had slept on Pete’s couch that night to save time commuting (or so they told everyone). Between the four of them, only John owned a suitcase, which was actually his girlfriend’s, so they all shared it.  
The contents of the suitcase:

• Pyjamas, four pairs  
• A change of clothes, four pairs  
• Gin, two bottles  
• One porno mag which no one admitted to slipping in but they agreed it would be used only In Case of Emergency  
• Eight ham sandwiches, courtesy of Roger  
• A generous supply of weed and a pipe  
• Two packs of Marlboro’s  
• Condoms, because they were ambitious  
• A few paperback books, because they pretend they’re not hoodlums

By 11 a.m, everyone loaded their things in Pete’s giant eight person van. John was somewhat nervous, considering the old hunk of metal looked like it was about to fall apart any minute. Keith said it was hanging on by sheer will power alone. Pete said it had character. Roger said they should just shut up and trust his mechanic skills. John said a quick prayer. 

The suitcase sat in the trunk, along with John’s bass because it had accidentally been left there the other day. Keith took the back row of seats, stretching out on his back and dozing off again. John took the middle, sitting quietly, seatbelt strapped around him tightly. Roger was passenger and took twenty minutes finding the perfect radio station and Pete drove, confident but a little aggressive.

Since leaving school and working full time, the four of them realized how much they missed going out on trips and being free to goof off for a weekend. They had agreed to just relax and have fun and not worry about the band or business matters for two days. 

For the first hour driving across town, they all got wound up in heated discussions.

11:30-11:35 a.m: Pete, trying to be an intellectual, starts a conversation about politics. He is quickly shut down.  
11:35-11:53 a.m: Roger and John start arguing about the ref’s call in the last football game they watched.  
11:53-11:55 a.m: Jesus Christ, Keith, you should have gone to the bathroom before we left.  
11:55-12:20 p.m: A quick bathroom break at a nearby gas station.  
12:20-12:37 p.m: Who the hell is that David Bowie guy anyways? 

By the time they reached the A23, the long steady drive became relaxing. Keith was doodling in his worn sketchbook, John broke out his bass to occupy his hands with something, and Pete suddenly looked very nervous.

“Pete? You okay?” Roger asked gently. “You look white as a sheet.”

“Yeah, I’m…I’m fine, don’t worry,” Pete murmured.

John leaned forward. “What’s going on, mate?”

“I, uh,” Pete swallowed quickly. “I’m just thinking about my guitar. I left it behind.”

“Well, yeah, you’re only gone for a night,” Roger said.

“I just…I’m just worried that, you know, something could happen to it? What if I forgot to lock the back door and someone breaks in and steals it?” Pete whispered, as if just saying it would jinx him.

“That won’t happen, Pete,” John reassured him. 

“Did I lock the case properly?” Pete fretted.

“Yes, you did. You checked twice before we left.” Roger told him, patting his arm.

“Oh, god, what if we need to play an emergency gig? I won’t have my guitar, I should have brought it, I need it—“

“Are you having separation anxiety about your guitar?” John asked gently.

“I’m not having separation anxiety about my guitar,” Pete said quickly.

“It sounds like you’re having separation anxiety about your guitar,” Keith chimed in from the back.

“Stop saying he’s having separation anxiety about his guitar,” Roger ordered. “Pete? You gonna be okay?”

Pete started hyperventilating. “John, just, just let me touch it, I need to feel the strings—“

John quickly took off the strap and shoved the neck of the guitar up to Pete in the front seat. Pete steered with one hand and the other reached back, groping frantically for the feel of the metal strings and smooth polished wood.

“Pete! Don’t crash!” Keith cried.

“Oh god, we need a paper bag, someone get him a paper bag!” Roger shouted.

Keith found a used plastic take-away bag on the floor of Pete’s van and tossed it at Roger. 

Roger held the plastic bag to Pete’s mouth to control his breathing before he passed out. John tossed his bass aside and stood up to reach across to the driver’s seat. John grabbed the steering wheel, trying to maintain a sense of direction and not kill everyone on the freeway.

They decided to pull off at the next exit and let someone else drive for a bit.

Now, John drove and Keith sat in the passenger seat. Pete sat in the middle, one hand on John’s bass protectively. Roger sat beside Pete in the middle because he claimed the back seat made him car sick. He heterosexually stroked Pete's hair platonically to bro-comfort him, because they were bros. 

1:02 p.m: They realize they missed their exit on the freeway  
1:06 p.m: They realize Keith can’t actually read a map  
1:08 p.m: The road trip takes an unexpected detour  
1:24 p.m: Roger gets worried that they’ll be late, is subsequently reassured that they still have 8 hours until the show.

Eventually they found themselves in the city. Keith shared funny stories about all the times he and his family visited Brighton during the summers of his childhood as they passed through strips of stores and beautiful old homes.

“Why don’t we go down to the beach for a few hours?” John suggested while they waited at a red light. 

“I’d like that,” Roger smiled. “It’s still a little sunny out, it’ll be nice!”

Pete shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but Keith enthused. They followed road signs and took the scenic route down to the water, parking the old van as close as they could to the beach.

Pete was glad to finally stretch his legs out and get fresh air. Roger raced Keith out to the water, chasing each other like they were kids again. Of course Roger had ditched his shirt long ago, because it was out of character for him to be wearing a shirt for more than two seconds. He and Keith rolled up their jeans at the ankle and waded in the cold water for a bit.

Reaching into the trunk, Pete searched for his notebook and a pen in the suitcase, and pulled out an old ratty blanket he usually kept in the back just in case. He and John rolled out the blanket and lay back on the sand, Pete scribbling a few song ideas about driving and going mobile that he thought of during the drive, and John curled up with a worn and stained copy of Watership Down. 

It was nice to relax for once in what seemed like forever. The ocean air did wonders for clearing everyone’s minds and easing all that pent up stress.

It was great to properly chat to John alone too. It was just like when they were teenagers again. God, they had come so far. He bounced his song ideas off of John, happy to converse with someone with the same mindset as him. Meanwhile, Keith and Roger got a chance to bond more, the both of them incredibly physical and hyperactive. Roger even invited Keith to come play rugby with some of his other mates from work sometime.

Later on, Roger and Keith joined Pete and John on the small blanket. The two younger men practically jumped on them, taking up all the space on the blanket and cuddling up to Pete and John.

“You’re getting sand everywhere!” John cried, but couldn’t help but laugh.

“For god’s sakes, we’re adults!” Pete complained but everyone knew he didn’t mind at all. Yeah, it was a bit gay, and four men cuddling on a public beach was a bit questionable. And gay. Kinda really gay. Within a few seconds they all remembered to pretend that they were Actually Straight And Very Masculine and found excuses to break apart so no one would ask any questions.

“I need cigarettes,” Pete declared loudly. “Lots of them. Like, ten.”

“I love my girlfriend,” John reminded them.

“I’ve never even experimented with the same sex,” Keith said quickly.

“Ham sandwiches, anyone?” Roger stood up, heading over to get them from the van. “They probably taste like shit, I don’t like to cook at all, I only like to barbecue and drink beer and play rugby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment man let's all be friends


	3. the show starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just don't question anything at this point

After getting some cheap greasy dinner later that night, they all piled back into the van to head to the club where Led Zeppelin would be performing. Roger sat in the passenger seat, primping and fluffing his hair obsessively in the mirror. 

“It’s not a job interview, mate,” Pete teased. He was in the driver’s seat, steering with one hand and holding a drink in the other. 

“I just want to look good in case I meet them, you know?” Roger admitted nervously. 

The sun was already setting, and to them that meant their day was just beginning. They could start drinking now, and the real fun would start at clubs and bars. They pulled into the venue parking lot, which was already filled quite modestly. Everyone got out and Pete made sure to lock everything up properly.

“Would you stop?” John teased Roger, who wouldn’t stop looking at his reflection in the van window. “You look fine. I’m sure they’ll all fall in love with you anyways.”

Roger looked at him with big moony eyes. “Do you really think so?”

“Oh, stop,” Pete groaned. “Let’s just go inside already.”

Keith linked arms with John and Pete, practically skipping with joy across the parking lot. Roger trailed behind them, trying to look moody and cool. When they passed through the doors of the club, Pete shrugged Keith off so they could look professional. They each paid the cover, Pete wincing inwardly at all the money he spent today already. He shouldn't have wasted money on food earlier, you can totally live without food, right? 

The environment was welcoming and familiar; a smoky club with a bar to one end, everyone with drinks in hand, and roadies setting up the equipment onstage. It was dark all around but the stage was lit red. It was slightly discouraging to be audience members when they all knew they could have been booked for a gig at a modest venue like this. 

Keith had already disappeared, most likely to talk to all the new people and get himself a few drinks. Roger insisted that they stand as close to the stage as they could so they wouldn’t need to elbow their way to the front later on.

Roger, John, and Pete stood waiting around, chatting aimlessly.

“Fuck, their equipment is nice,” John frowned. “It looks like they own it all. I wonder how much that all cost?”

“We need a bloody manager before we can think about any of that,” Pete sighed. “Rog, when you’re blowing them all after the show, can you ask where they found a good manager?”

Roger pouted. “Pete! I just want a professional relationship with them!”

“Professional meaning, no sex until the second date?” John asked, deadpan.

“Ha. Nice one.” Pete elbowed John in the side, delighted to have a good ol’ proper banter with his mate, what a lad, so fuckin’ ledge.

It felt like hours until the roadies onstage were finished setting up and finally started to do sound checks. Pete cringed inwardly, thinking about he and the band just jammed whatever plugs into any old socket and started playing as loudly as possible. Then again, that might be why they hardly get hired to play any gigs.

John had wandered off to check on Keith and search for the cheapest beer available to pass some time. Roger and Pete resorted to their primal instincts, where they turned around to talk to the people around them and mentioned they were in a rock band every chance they had. 

After what felt like a century to Pete, some light applause from the medium sized crowd signaled the band members walking onstage. Roger sprinted to the lip of the stage. John returned with three beers. His eyes narrowed when he saw a man with a shirt with a spider web on it walk across the stage and sit down at the drum kit. Another young looking guy followed the drummer, carrying on his bass. He plugged it in and started strumming a few chords. Then, a tall, lanky guy slunk onstage. His long, dark hair covered one eye as he picked up his impressive looking electric guitar, quickly adjusting the tuning pegs. Pete scoffed, brushing his long, dark hair out of his eyes and crossing his arms over his tall, lanky body. That guitarist looked pretentious as hell. Pete was glad he was nothing like him.

Finally, the epitome of pretentious hippies walked out onstage. The bloke who was obviously the noteworthy singer practically floated out onstage, the audience cheering already. He had a long, golden mane with curls that bounced as he walked. He had a horrifically floral shirt that he left undone to show his bare chest and stomach, and wore long beaded necklaces and bracelets. Pete looked over just as Roger’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“Oh my god,” Roger whispered. “He’s absolutely gorgeous…”

“What the hell?” Pete turned to Roger. “Rog, he looks exactly like—“

Pete was cut off as the lead singer purred into the mic. 

“Good evening, my beauties. We’re so excited to play for you tonight,” he cooed. “I’m Robert. John Paul Jones is our bassist, John Bonham is on drums, and Jimmy is on guitar. We’re Led Zeppelin, and tonight, we’re going to start off strong with a song everyone will know…”

Robert did this little smirk and a devilish laugh and Jimmy went full force into a song even Pete recognized hearing before somewhere. John handed Pete a beer and they stood back, critically assessing everything they saw and heard.

“You need coolin', baby, I'm not foolin'…” 

The band seemed pretty well put together. Each member complimented each other nicely and their sound was amazing. The guitarist and the singer both simultaneously stole the show but also balanced each other out beautifully.

“Way down inside, honey, you need it…” 

This song exuded a sexual energy, and the riff made Pete blush when he thought about what the pulsing rhythm reminded him of. He eyed the guitarist, watching as he coaxed the noises out of the guitar like some mysterious snake charmer. A sexy mysterious snake charmer.

“Oh,” Robert practically moaned into the microphone, his breath hitching and sighing in a way that was unexpectedly yet shamelessly sexual. “Wanna a whole lotta love…” Robert threw his head back, his beautiful mass of hair bouncing and falling over his shoulders. He looked great in the warm stage lights. He gripped the microphone desperately like a vice, but flicked his wrists elegantly or swayed his hips like nobody’s business.

Then, they went into this delicious trip sequence that Pete couldn’t help but envy how they reproduced it onstage. At one point, Jimmy pulled out a violin bow to draw and scrape against his guitar strings that created this wonderfully spacey and psychedelic noise. The innovation and technique kind of turned Pete on, which was weird and he decided never to acknowledge ever again. He went back to focusing on his beer.

The song went from the trippy sequence back into full-fledged rock. Robert seemed to get really into it, at some points stroking his chest or combing through his hair, or even shaking his hips more. It was so sensual, Pete felt awkward like it was a sexual encounter he wasn't prepared for. At one point, he looked down at Roger who was watching with awe at the front lip of the stage. Robert looked directly at him and crooned, “Shake for me, girl. I wanna be your backdoor man.”

Roger swooned and fell over. John and Pete caught the fainting damsel in distress just in time, and brought him around the back of the crowd to the bar, where fortunately there was an empty seat beside where Keith had been hiding out, talking animatedly to the bloke next to him.

“Alright, Rog, easy now,” John murmured as he hoisted Roger onto the bar stool. They ordered him a drink to get his spirits back.

“What happened to ‘im?” Keith asked, quite drunk already.

“He was completely seduced, I’m afraid,” Pete frowned. “Bless his poor little heart.”

“I don’t even think it’s a gay thing at this point,” John told them. “That Robert guy is more than a mere mortal man. He's definitely got some weird voodoo shit going on there.”

From the bar, they sat together and watched the band as they played two upbeat songs in contrast. Through ‘Living Loving Maid’ and ‘What Is and What Should Never Be’, John and Keith found themselves tapping their feet along to the music. Pete felt frustrated with his envy, because they performed things unlike anything their own band had every dared to dream up. All Pete had was pop songs and story ideas he planned to turn into songs. He felt a little defeated, vowing that he needed to keep working harder. They totally had the potential to be better than these hippies. 

‘Dazed and Confused’ certainly upped the ante for Pete. And sure, maybe this psychedelic wave sound wasn’t really The Who, so why bother comparing them? The Who were angrier than them, and rougher. Their lyrics would be their driving protesting force, and their angry passion would make the music come alive and shake everyone up. None of this flowery stuff. And that guitarist has nothing on Pete. Sure, he was more experimental and more attractive than Pete was, but Pete thought of different reasons to resent him for it. 

Towards the end of the night, Led Zeppelin played a shatteringly loud ‘Babe, I’m Gonna Leave You’. The lyrics were sang achingly, and then immediately washed away by the crashing waves of guitar. Pete tried his best to be unimpressed, but that guitarist just kept pulling tricks from under his sleeve, all while maintaining that moody, mysterious allure. Damn him.

They had followed Roger as he scrambled back to the front of the crowd for their last song, ‘Ramble On’, played acoustically. Roger absolutely lost his mind, jumping and cheering for them. Keith got swept up in the hype and joined him, bouncing around. Pete pouted and John was secretly enjoying himself very much. When they finished, the crowd cheered and applauded. Everyone was hyped up after such a good performance. The band was modest, bowing appreciatively, saying thank-you’s into the mic, and waving to the audience. They all filed off and went backstage, and some of the crowd started clearing out, the rest staying behind to enjoy the next folk guitarist to come onstage and play background music to fill the space.

“That was…amazing…” Roger said quietly, looking like a lost child who had just found God and couldn’t quite believe it. 

Pete shrugged. “They’re alright. I still think we’re better though.”

“If I had a shot for every time that guy said ‘mama’ or ‘baby’ in a song, I would be long dead by now,” John joked, the rest of them laughing along with him. “Freud woulda loved that guy.”

“And what about that duck face they all kept pulling?” Pete joined in. “At any given moment, at least one of them had their lips pursed like that.”

“I just can’t get over that first song. Was ‘love’ supposed to be a metaphor for his cock?” John pondered. “I’m gonna give you every inch of my ‘love’? Wanna whole lotta dick?”

“You’re just jealous that he’s a lyrical genius,” Pete joked.

“Oh, come on, squeeze my lemon, John!” Keith teased, throwing his arms around John’s neck and moaning. The three of them dissolved into tipsy laughter. Roger was ignoring them, and instead craned his neck to keep checking over the crowd to see if the band would exit through one of the side doors by the stage.

“Piss off, you lot can’t appreciate anything beautiful and pure in this world,” Roger pouted. He kept looking back, distracted. “Do you think they’ll come out soon? Or will they go out the back and go home discreetly? Oh god, what if we missed them?”

“You’ll be fine, Roger,” John assured them. Then his face lit up. “Look, here they come, how convenient was that?”

The four members of the other band slinked out the side, somehow doing it in slow motion and they looked super suave and cool. Pete rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Roger turned around and buried his face, blushing deeply. “Did they see me? I look terrible and embarrassing please make sure they don’t see me…”

But it seems like Robert had come out with the intention of finding them. Keith waved like mad, trying to get their attention. Robert spotted them sitting at that bar and grinned devilishly. He whispered something to the rest of the band and they walked over.

“Here they come!” Pete whispered to Roger, already getting excited over how this would turn out.

Roger sprang up, panicked. He quickly smoothed down his hair and brushed off his shirt. 

Robert Plant glided up to them, announcing his arrival with a quick jingle of all his beaded bracelets. “Well, hello there.”


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter four: everyone is named john it's hard

Roger stood like a deer in the headlights, completely star struck. Pete didn’t get it. Sure they were talented, but they’re just regular guys like themselves. Pete rolled his eyes, feeling terribly unprofessional with their first impression. He took over, extending a hand to Robert. “Hey there, nice to meet you all. I’m Pete, that’s Roger, that one’s John, and that one's Keith.”

The other band all bobbed their heads, murmuring hello’s and shaking hands. Robert locked his eyes on Pete, and slid his hand into Pete’s to shake it. Robert held on for an extraordinarily long time, and Pete squirmed under his intense gaze. John was right, there was definitely some voodoo vibes going on here that Pete wanted no part of.

John stepped forward, clapping a hand on Robert’s shoulder. “We thought you all played bloody marvelous. We'd love to buy you a round and keep talking.”

Jimmy, who was otherwise straight-faced and broody looking, cracked a small grin briefly. “Lovely.” He and John broke away from the crowd and went to the bar. Looking over, Pete saw Keith whisper something to the other drummer, John Bonham. The drummer nodded, and Keith turned to Pete.

“Can I borrow the van keys for a second, mate? I forgot something in the trunk,” Keith asked him. Pete, who was still pinned under that intense look Robert was giving him, distractedly fumbled in the back pocket of his jeans and tossed the key ring to Keith. Keith waved John Bonham over and they crossed the room, going out through the back doors of the club by the stage.

By this time, Roger had unfrozen himself and stammered awkwardly. “I think you all played good.”

The bassist for the other band emerged from behind Robert, smiling. “Thank you, we saw you at the edge of the stage, you looked totally thrilled.”

Roger’s cheeks went red. Pete stepped in once again, so they didn’t look like total geeks. “We’re in a band too, actually. We’re called The Who. I really admired all the experimental techniques you tried out, it was so ambitious. I dig it.”

Something flickered in Robert’s eyes and he looked positively delighted, as if Pete’s compliment had earned himself a rite of passage. Robert stepped in closer, predatorily cutting him off from Roger and the bassist. Pete felt very awkward, considering Robert’s complete lack of subtlety. 

“Oh, thank you love,” Robert cooed, his eyes warm and melty. “You’re so smart, I bet you know sooo much about music.”

“Uh,” Pete swallowed quickly. “I know some stuff, I guess. I still have a long way to go though.”

Robert pouted. “I’m terribly sorry I haven’t heard of your band yet, I’m afraid Jimmy’s got us locked up all the time so we can practice and practice and practice…”

Pete smiled to himself, thinking about Jimmy, slaving away for hours creating beautiful music, pouring all his energy and soul into writing and handling his guitar like that. Pete looked over to Jimmy, who was sitting at the bar with John looking stoic and mysterious. Pete had so many questions he wanted to ask the other guitarist but he felt meek.

“Hey, um,” Roger tried to get Robert’s attention politely. “Hi Robert, I thought you’re, erm, I mean I still think, that you’re, uh, a really good singer. Like, so good. Really great.”

Pete happily took the opportunity to distract Robert. “Yeah, Rog here is our singer. He’s magnificent. You two should talk about oral techniques or something. I have to go, bye.” Pete quickly ducked out and headed over to the bar, eager to escape the weirdly sensual vibe Robert was giving off.

Pete approached John and Jimmy at the bar, quickly clearing his throat and combing his hair from his eyes. “There you are. May I join?”

“Of course!” John invited him to sit down on the empty stool beside him. He slid a chilled beer over to Pete. “Jimmy and I were just talking about guitars, I feel like this is your domain more than mine.”

Pete took a sip of beer, surprisingly nervous. He didn’t want to fuck up and embarrass himself in front of Jimmy, who was also incredibly handsome up close. Pete hoped some talent would rub off on him. “I dunno, I know a lot about guitars but I’m not as great at playing as they tell everyone I am. There’s loads of people better than me.”

It was a bit jarring because Jimmy had less facial expression than John’s usual signature deadpan. It wasn’t that Jimmy’s face was hard and stony, nor passive, but almost incredibly intense, like he was looking right into Pete’s brain and reading all his thoughts. Pete felt personally victimized because every member of Led Zeppelin seemed to be uncomfortably intense at all times.

“Don’t say that, Petey,” John reassured him, filling in the gap of silence. Thank god he was there to ease that thick tension. John turned to Jimmy. “Pete was especially impressed by your use of the violin bow on the guitar, right Pete?”

“Oh, yes,” Pete joined in quickly. “Usually I like to fuck around with the sounds like that in post-production with nice equipment. I never really considered trying to experiment live onstage, especially in front of a whole crowd. So much could go wrong.”

Jimmy traced a finger around the rim of the glass of his straight vodka. Pete shivered. “It’s all about experimenting. You need to get up onstage in front of everyone and push your limits. If it doesn’t work, make it work. You have to be in the moment. Don’t hide it away until it’s perfect. You gotta grow.”

Pete swallowed quickly. He was hanging off of every word. “Oh, god, you’re so right…”

Jimmy looked up at him, locking eyes. Everyone was trying to lock their damn eyes with Pete. Jimmy was the only exception. Pete wanted Jimmy to do whatever he wanted with him at this point.

Wait dude, Pete told himself, that’s kinda gay.

Sorry man, Pete also told himself. Actually, just kidding, I’m not sorry, I totally want Jimmy Page to penetrate me.

John sat in the middle, politely ignoring the weird sexual tension and the fact that Pete looked like he was about to pop a massive boner. “Um, yeah. You’re right, though, that’s a good philosophy to have. I find that we prefer experimenting on our own behind the scenes though. There’s less pressure and you can work through trial and error as long as you want, uninterrupted.”

Jimmy looked right through John and gave Pete a deliciously dark look. Pete felt totally exposed, but he was also sorta really into it. It wasn’t until Roger and Robert and John Paul Jones came walking over to talk to join them that Pete was pulled out of that mysterious trance. Roger was babbling on excitedly about god knows what, like an over excited puppy following at Robert’s heels trying to catch up. Robert looked bored. John Paul Jones looked happy, but looked happier at the drink menu.

Ignoring Roger, Robert came up behind Pete and slid a hand on his shoulder, pressing himself up extremely close against Pete’s back. “Hello, darling. I was wondering where you had wandered off to. I still want to know what you thought of our performance.” Robert was ogling him, completely unashamed and not caring who saw. Robert even twirled a long piece of Pete’s hair flirtatiously. Pete looked down quickly. He didn’t want Jimmy to think that he was interested in Robert by any means. Not implying that Pete had any expectations that Jimmy would be interested in him either. Not at all. Not a single tiny bit. That would be so weird, right? Pete totally likes girls and only girls. 

John and John Paul Jones carried the group discussion. Now that everyone was there, minus their drummers, they found that conversation flowed easily. Both bands agreed that they appreciated finding another group of peers on the same footing as them. The Led Zeppelin boys passed on some advice to the Who boys about who was hot in the business side of recording, and who to completely avoid. The Who boys shared their own tips about performing and playing the crowd, and how to deal with unruly audience members. Despite the weird tension between the two singers and two guitarists, it was otherwise a mellow evening with enriching conversation. Pete felt really good about having come on the trip.

They all talked until the bartender announced the last call. John looked at his watch quickly. “Oh, god, I didn’t realize how late it was. Time flies, eh?”

Robert, who was frustrated at the lack of attention Pete was giving him, had floated back over to drape his arms around Jimmy. Roger kept switching seats so he could be closer to Robert. Naturally, the two bassists found the most in common between themselves to talk about, and broke off into their own conversation.

“I just want to head back to the flat and get absolutely stoned,” Robert told Jimmy, resting his chin on the top of the other man’s head. Watching them, Pete noticed how the two front men were incredibly….touchy. The way Robert and Jimmy interacted made them seem like an old married couple who could finish each other’s sentences, but they also came off as horny teenagers who couldn’t get their hands off of each other. Even more shocking was how casual they were about it all. Back in the neighbourhoods The Who came from, that sort of liberal attitude was completely unheard of and totally unwelcome.

“That sounds perfect right now,” Jimmy looked more at ease when Robert was by his side, and he finally showed some emotion. “Let’s go, shall we?” He dropped the arm that was casually strung around Robert’s waist and stood up, stretching. Then, Jimmy and Roger did this weird kiss thing where they pressed their tongues against each other’s like it was no big deal. Roger and Pete watched in a mix of disgust and sheer horror.

Fucking hippies.

“Wait, are you two…?” Roger asked, looking betrayed.

Jimmy and Robert furrowed their eyebrows. “What?”

Roger frowned. Pete considered downing both bottles of gin they had packed in their suitcase so he could completely forget what he had just seen. 

He thought about the suitcase in the trunk of the van. Pete stood up, teetering slightly. He wasn’t very drunk, but he was more drunk than he had originally thought. “We brought weed, it’s pretty fucked up stuff. You can join us in the van if you want.”

He patted the right pocket, which was empty. He patted the left pocket, which was also empty. His front pockets were empty too. He had his keys on him all night, only taking them out to give to Keith.

Keith. Fuck.

“Hold on, hold on,” Pete told the group, who were all grabbing their things and standing to leave. “Has anyone seen Keith?”

John caught on to his realization, suddenly turning serious. “Oh, fuck. I thought you were watching him.”

“I thought you were watching him!” Pete covered his mouth. “Fuck. We can’t afford to pay for whatever he wandered off and destroyed. We need to ditch this place before we get caught.”

“Come to think of it, it was pretty quiet this evening. We would have heard him if he got into any trouble,” John chewed on his bottom lip. “This is a bit worrying.”

John Paul Jones looked around. “We’re missing Bonzo, too. Did they leave together?”

Pete winced. “I gave him and Keith the keys to the van. But that was forever ago.”

“Pete!” John groaned. “What were you thinking?”

“Hey, they’ll be fine,” Robert assured them. “Bonzo’s a maniac, but he still has some common sense. Let’s go out and see if they’re in the van. They probably just got to the weed before us.”

Robert linked arms with Pete, lovingly ushering him out the back door to the parking lot. Jimmy trailed behind them. Roger scurried to catch up to Robert’s long strides. John and John Paul Jones split the tab and followed behind them.

It was chillier outside compared to the mild weather they had earlier that day. Pete shivered.

“God, it’s bloody cold,” Roger grumbled. 

“Yeah, it’s fuckin’ freezing,” Pete agreed. 

Robert suddenly perked up. “Oh, Pete! Would you like my shirt? Let me warm you up.”

“I was cold first..." Roger muttered.

Pete politely refused just as Robert was starting to rip off his shirt heroically. They were walking to the back of a parking lot that they hadn’t noticed was nearly empty. “Hey, do you remember where we parked?”

“We parked beside the very last streetlamp,” John sighed, pointing at the space that was now worryingly empty. “Fuck.”

“Are you sure we parked here?” Roger asked. They all looked around the parking lot. There were a few small cars, and Led Zeppelin’s van parked by the building. The rest was empty. The van and the two drummers were gone.

“Fuck,” Pete groaned.

“Indeed.” Roger said, not focused on Robert for a brief moment. “Shit, Pete, all of our stuff was in there. We don’t even have anywhere to sleep tonight now.”

“Forget about our clothes and porn,” John walked up to them. “We let two of the biggest maniacs go out driving alone in an unfamiliar city.”

The attention had not been on Robert for a few minutes so he turned very brash and dramatic. “Oh, god, they're gone! Bonzo’s been kidnapped!”

“Relax, they haven’t kidnapped each other. They’re grown men who decided to leave and entertain themselves,” John rolled his eyes. “We just need to find out where they drove off to. We can’t go home without them.”

“I feel weak,” Robert slapped a wrist to his forehead. “Pete, I’m going to faint, catch me…”

Robert swooned and practically threw himself onto the asphalt. Pete didn’t flinch. Roger caught him just in time, and knelt so Robert could rest his head in Roger’s lap. Roger combed through Robert’s hair, comforting him. “Robert? Are you okay? Do you need mouth to mouth? I know how to do mouth to mouth. I’m really good at mouth to mouth, actually. Just lemme know.”

Jimmy slunk past them and he pulled a single key out of the back of his tight leather pants. Pete practically drooled.

“Come on, get in our van before we freeze. We’ll drive around to look for them.” Jimmy announced. 

Oh Jimmy, Pete thought to himself. Yeah, order me around like that. Tell me to sit in your car. Tell me to wear my seatbelt, I’m such a bad boy.

The six remaining members of the bands hurried back across the parking lot and all piled into Led Zeppelin’s van. It smelt like weed and incense, exactly what Pete expected from a bunch of hippies. Their equipment from their gig was already stored nicely in the back by their roadies. Pete wanted roadies so bad.

Pete took the passenger seat next to Jimmy. Roger sat in the middle with Robert less than an inch away. John Paul Jones and John Entwistle took the back seat, poring over a map of Brighton to narrow down some possible locations to look for the missing men. 

“Alright,” Pete turned back to face the others as Jimmy revved the engine. “Let’s find our drummers.”


	5. the search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the search begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couple of notes:
> 
> -this was originally going to be two chapters but they flowed nicely together so i smushed the two together  
> -everything is a farce at this point  
> -there's the suggestion of impaired driving, in the 1960's they didn't give a single fuck, but obviously culture and laws have changed significantly since then. i do not condone impaired driving and i beg of you to obey the law. please don't, or let anyone else, drive drunk or high  
> -on a lighter note, in my canon everyone has a pretty big dick bc i'm very generous as a writer

The roads were pretty empty at 1 a.m, with the occasional car driving past them and blinding them with headlights. There was nervous energy in the van, the majority of it coming from Roger who was overly anxious for his friend, but he tried to play it cool in front of Robert. Emphasis on the fact that he ‘tried’.

“What if they got into a car accident and died?” Roger asked casually and with a gruff voice, but his eyes were big as saucers and he fretted with the hem of his shirt. “It’s a given that they were both drunk and full of adrenaline after a show like that. I mean, after hearing Robert sing so well, I sure got turned on—“

“They’re not dead, and John Bonham didn’t have all that much to drink before Keith dragged him off. I watched him.” John murmured from behind the giant road map he and John Paul Jones were struggling to hold. For once, everyone was grateful for John’s monotone voice. He sounded like a mother who was tiredly reassuring her little children. 

“What if they got thrown into jail?” Roger insisted, going through a checklist in his head of all the horrible things that could happen to someone you loved.

“Then they’ll be safe there,” John told him. “Robert and Jimmy will pay bail with the money they just earned from the gig, and then we’ll be forever in their debt until we actually start earning some money as a band, so you can see Robert as often as you want as long as it means paying our dues.”

“Oh,” Roger said quietly. Now that he had plenty of scenarios involving being indebted to Robert to imagine in his head, he finally stopped talking.

“Alright, if you keep going down this road, there’s going to be a set of lights and a gas station. We can slow down and check if they stopped there,” John put down the map and instructed Jimmy from the back seat. “If not, further down a few blocks, there’s a diner that I know Keith is fond of.”

“Right,” Jimmy answered, and continued to drive ahead, looking all dark and mysterious in the dark of night. Pete nearly swooned.

“Jimmy, darling, put some music on,” Robert pleaded. He was hardly able to move as Roger was sitting so close to him. 

Without hesitation, Jimmy took both hands off the wheel and reached over across Pete’s lap to open the glove compartment and pull out a worn out looking cassette tape. Pete leaned over instinctively to grab the wheel and straighten it as Jimmy stuffed the tape into the player and pressed play. Jimmy looked over at him with a look that suggested he approved of Pete taking charge. It was such a sensual exchange that Pete nearly broke a sweat.

Okay, so since Jimmy Page has terrible driving habits, so he’s probably a freak in bed, Pete thought to himself with a small smile.

A few seconds later, the tape started played some weird voodoo music that was a medley of Gregorian chants and pan flutes chirping erratically. Jimmy started bobbing his head like it was a goddamn Beach Boys tune.

“Yas, this album is such a jam!” Robert cheered from the middle seat, tapping his feet to the haunting chants. Everyone else was very silent. Pete struggled to keep from bursting out laughing. He knew if he caught one glance at John’s face in the back, he’d fucking lose it.

“Oh my god, I love this…uh, group!” Roger, bless his little heart, tried to join in. 

John Paul Jones leaned forward to talk to Roger. “Personally, I think they stole too much melody and sound from the lead singer’s solo album, what do you think?”

“Um,” Roger stalled. “I could hardly notice.”

“You don’t know anything, Jonesy,” Robert looked behind to face the bassists. “His solo album ripped off this album. They were produced at the same time but released months apart.”

“Um, yeah,” Roger said. “I totally agree. Gosh, Robert, you’re so smart, I bet you know everything in the planet.”

“Mhmm,” Robert turned back around, chuffed. 

Thankfully, the weird chants were turned down as they pulled into the loop of the gas station, but it was closed for the night. “Damn, no one here,” Pete murmured.

John Paul Jones checked the map again. “Okay, Jimmy, keep taking this road and turn left at the next intersection, and that’ll take you into the touristy part of town.”

And they were off again. There was hardly anyone out, so in theory it shouldn’t be hard to find two guys or the giant beat up van, right? 

“What if the van broke down and they’re stranded somewhere? Then we don’t even have a way to get home tomorrow,” Roger started fretting again.

“Then if I were you, I’d quit being a mechanic for a living,” Pete reminded him. “You said you fixed it up properly, right Rog?”

“Um,” Roger bit his lip.

Pete turned around to glare at Roger. “Right, Rog?”

“I mean, it’s fixed up and can run clean, but your muffler could pop at any time now. It’s living its final days.” Roger confessed.

Pete turned back around and sighed. He needed money. And a lot of it.

The second track on the tape played. More chanting. It sounded like what Pete thought Latin voodoo chants would sound like, minus the pan flute being replaced by a spastic cowbell player.

Next, they pulled into the 24 hour diner, which was one of three in all of the city that the two Johns could find on the map. The two bands clambered out, stretching.  
Robert went ahead and linked both arms with Jimmy and Pete, eager to brush off Roger. The six of them walked inside, where the warm restaurant was more occupied than they thought. A few old and grumpy looking truck drivers sat in their own booths, and a group of stoned teenagers sat vegged out at the back tables. 

John Paul Jones scanned the restaurant, then out the window to the parking lot, and then checked the bathrooms. “Nope, no sign of them.”

John went up to the young woman at the cash register. “Excuse me, miss, we were just wondering if you had seen our friends come in here sometime tonight?”

Roger appeared behind him. “One was a short guy with brown hair and big brown eyes, and he looks like he’s twelve years old, and he was most likely drunk?”

John Paul Jones joined them at the counter as well. “The other guy had long brown hair and a wicked mustache that kind of goes like this,” he traced his two fingers across his lip and down the sides.

“Sorry, luv,” the young waitress shook her head. “I just started my shift an hour ago, and I didn’t see no one that wasn’t already here before.”

“Damn,” John muttered. Their journey would go on. They were just about to turn around to leave when a fry cook popped his head out the little window in the wall behind the front counter.

“Oi, lads, they were here, but hours ago,” he wagged his greasy spatula at them. “Moustachio ordered a hamburger with extra onions, tomato, and relish. The kid just wanted chips.”

“Oh, fantastic!” Roger exclaimed. “Thank you!”

“Did you see where they went after that?” John Paul Jones asked him. 

The fry cook shook his head. “They didn’t stay to eat, I guess they went back to their car.”

“Hmm,” John paused. “And any idea which direction they drove by any chance?”

“Not a clue,” the cook responded. The three of them thanked the staff for their help, and went to the back of the restaurant to tell the others. The other three were sitting in a booth. Robert sat looking sorrowful in the middle, holding Jimmy’s hand on one side and leaning his head on Pete’s shoulder on the other side. Jimmy stared out the window moodily and Pete looked very uncomfortable.

“Just break the news already,” Robert sighed. He let go of Jimmy’s hand to grab a scratchy napkin and dab at his eyes as if he had been crying even though he hadn't. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“What? No.” John furrowed his eyebrows. “The cook saw them here a few hours ago. They were alive, well fed, and kept driving.”

“Oh,” Robert frowned at first, and then looked at Pete dreamily. “Did you hear that, Petey? They’re safe!”

“I heard, yeah,” Pete muttered. “Can we go now, please?”

The six of them left the restaurant and climbed in the van again. Pete tried to sit in the passenger seat again so he could be next to Jimmy and talk to him more this time, but Robert tugged at his arm and begged for Pete to join him in the middle. 

Jimmy drove again, John Paul Jones sat in the passenger seat, and John in the very back. Roger and Robert sat in the middle bench with Pete sandwiched between them grumpily. 

The van started up, and more Gregorian chants played.

The next stop was a pub that Jimmy said John Bonham had been to a few times while they stayed in Brighton. They had a hard time parking the huge van on the street, but the pub seemed crowded still, which was a good sign. They couldn’t see The Who’s beat up van parked on the street but there was still a chance they could be inside.

Inside, the air was smoky and smelled of body odour and liquor. The lights were dim but the music was loud, and it was just a bit too crowded for comfort. Despite the late hour, the party was still going strong. John Paul Jones and John went to go search around the crowds of people. Roger managed to drag Robert along to talk to the bartenders. Pete nervously stood next to Jimmy, trying not to stand too close so he looked clingy, but he needed to be close enough that he looked interested, but stand so he looked nonchalant and cool.

“I have an idea,” Jimmy murmured and walked off towards the back of the room.

Pete followed quickly. Oh god. Jimmy was going to take him to an empty bathroom stall and--

Jimmy stopped abruptly at the pay phones. He leaned against the wall all sexy and cool, and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. Pete watched, cheeks flushed, as Jimmy fingered through the coin pocket of his wallet. Pete caught a glimpse of a condom tucked away with Jimmy’s other bills and cards. Pete recognized it as the extra-large brand and nearly fainted.

Jimmy sensually slipped a few coins through the slot at the top of the machine, then erotically punched in a phone number and sexually held the phone to his ear. The two watched each other as the phone rang once, twice, three times, four times… by the seventh ring, Jimmy hung up with a sigh and slunk away, heading back to Robert. Pete hesitated, but waited for the two coins to drop to the bottom of the machine. He pocketed them quickly and went to join the others.

Jimmy brushed Robert’s hair from behind his ear lovingly, and leaned in to murmur to him. “I rang the flat, but there was no answer. Either they’re fast asleep or no one’s home.”

“Oh, drat,” Robert frowned, but then an excited glimmer flashed across his face. “Good thinking, love. You just gave me an idea for later…”

The two Johns joined them again, shaking their heads. John Paul Jones told them, “No sign here either. One bloke knows Bonzo but hadn’t seen him tonight.”

Pete frowned. “Jimmy called their flat but there was no answer. Any idea where to check next?”

“What about going back to the beach?” Roger suggested. 

“We were just there this afternoon, I don’t see why Keith would go back,” John answered. “Do you think it’s worth checking the other twenty four hour diners?”

John Paul Jones shook his head. “They wouldn’t need to go to a second restaurant. I think Bonzo would have fallen asleep by now. We went out clubbing all last night too so I’d imagine he’d be exhausted.”

“Plus, nothing else would be open at this hour. All the pubs and clubs nearby would be closing soon anyways,” Robert said with a yawn. “I’m tired. Let’s just go home.”

John tutted. “But where would they sleep if they’re not back at your place?”

“Forget that, where are we going to sleep without the van?” Pete groaned. “I don’t have money for a hotel room, you know. I don’t even have pyjamas now.”

Robert gave a sly glance at Jimmy. “Don’t worry, gentlemen. You can stay with us for the night.”

“That’s too kind of you,” John, their resident smooth talker insisted. “We really couldn’t.”

“We would love to have you,” Robert look straight at Pete, but assured all of them. “Plus, we know how hard it is being starving artists and all. We need to help each other out now and then.”

Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. It really was getting late, and the buzz of alcohol and adrenaline was wearing off as fatigue was setting in. He really didn’t want to refuse a safe place to sleep for the night. “Thank you so much. We owe you guys a lot. Sorry our drummer stole your drummer and you had to drive us around all night looking for them.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head,” Robert smiled warmly, sliding an arm around Pete’s waist. “Hopefully we track them down in the morning.” He waved to the others and the six of them walked back out the van. 

Everyone was tired and had fallen on the quiet side. The two bassists sat in the back seat again, and Pete caught John close his eyes and doze off during the ride. The singers sat in the middle, Roger twirling a lock of hair and trying desperately to strike up a fruitful conversation with Robert. Jimmy and Pete took the front seat again. The night remained blissfully uninterrupted as they voted on no music for the drive. It was Pete’s favourite time of night, where the rest of the world was lulled off to sleep and everything was absolutely still. The passing streetlights flashed beautifully across Jimmy’s features, accentuating his elegant profile. He looked lost in thought, yet concentrated in his element. Pete wanted to bone him so bad.

“So, where’s your flat?” Pete asked Jimmy tentatively.

“It’s actually not too far from the first diner we went to,” Jimmy answered, finally speaking more now that everyone else wasn’t paying attention. “We rented it for the month while we have a few gigs in Brighton lined up. It’s a real nice place. There’s more than enough room for all of us.”

“Mm,” Pete smiled, relaxing further back in the leather seat. “If you ever need somewhere to stay, the house I’m renting is an unofficial hostel at this point. You can drop by any time you’d like. Well, you and the band, I mean, haha.”

“Of course,” for the first time that night, Jimmy looked over at him and gave him a small smile. It was more of an appreciative gesture now that they had finally warmed up to each other, but Pete had a hundred heart attacks at once.

Looking out at the passing scenery, Pete genuinely did wish that Keith and John Bonham were safe and comfortable. They were most likely passed out in the back seat of the van, safe in a parking lot somewhere. Hopefully they hadn’t left Brighton and had the common sense to drive back to Jimmy’s rented flat the next morning. But for now, their night together was guaranteed to be an interesting one.

Eventually, Jimmy pulled into the parking space for their flat, and six tired men climbed out for the last time that night. Everyone helped carry a piece of Led Zeppelin’s equipment upstairs, which thankfully was only on the second floor. The flat was spacious and very mod looking. There wasn’t much decoration because they didn’t permanently live there, but it definitely looked like four musicians lived there. 

“Well, make yourselves comfortable, boys,” Robert smiled devilishly, playing the sultry housewife. “May I get you anything? Water? Tea?”

Roger asked for a tea and insisted on following Robert into the kitchen to help make it. Jimmy had long since disappeared. John and John Paul Jones, who had become close quite quickly over the night, were sitting together on the couch. They were flipping through a record collection to find something John Paul Jones mentioned earlier that he wanted to show John. When no one was looking, Pete left quickly to go find Jimmy. Maybe he’d have some luck...

He pattered quietly down the hallway, peeking through each door. There were two bathrooms and a linen closet on one side of the hallway, and only three bedrooms on the other side. In the last bedroom at the end of the hall, Pete found Jimmy unpacking his guitar case and various papers and cords and cables. Pete knocked softly on the door. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jimmy waved him in. Pete shut the door behind him and sat cross legged on the edge of the bed, watching him. 

“That is one beautiful guitar,” Pete murmured as Jimmy carefully pulled his Les Paul out of the case and set it back on the stand. “I’m saving up for another real professional one to add to my collection soon.”

Jimmy looked lovingly at the instrument. “She really is a thing of beauty, eh?”

Pete rested his chin in his hand, watching as Jimmy fussed with folding up every cable just right, or stacking his papers in perfect order and leaving them arranged nicely on top of his dresser. The way he took perfect loving care of his things made Pete’s heart swell with adoration for him. Well, his heart amongst other things.

Jimmy bent over to open a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of generic striped pyjamas and a black t-shirt, handing it over to Pete. “There, you can borrow these for the night.”

This was his chance. Pete held the bundle, their hands touching, their eyes locked. “Thank you.”

Jimmy stepped back and watched Pete. Pete stood up and kept his gaze locked heavily with Jimmy’s. Pete reached down to unbuckle his belt swiftly, then undo his button, and pull down his zipper slowly, arching his hips forwards as he went. Pete kicked off his boots and let his trousers fall to his ankles, letting Jimmy see everything.

A split second later, Robert Plant burst through the bedroom door, and then covered his mouth with an elegant hand. “Oh, Pete!”

“Fuck—“ Pete scrambled to cover himself and turned around to look at Robert. “Robert, close the damn door!”

Robert did as he was told, but closed the door with him on the inside of the room. Robert plastered himself against the door, and bit his bottom lip as he looked at Pete without an ounce of subtlety. 

Pete grumbled and kicked off his jeans, grumpy that his strip tease had been interrupted. He quickly pulled on the pyjama pants. 

“Oh, my, my…” Robert cooed, looking at both scrawny raven haired guitarists across from him. “It looks like it’s just the three of us alone in my bedroom…whatever will we do to pass the time?”

“Um,” Pete said.

Robert giggled and went over to the bed, stretching out with a delighted sigh. “Jimmy, darling? Will you join us tonight?”

Jimmy finished putting some things in the small closet and then walked over to the door. “Sorry love, I want to finish writing something first. Maybe tomorrow.” He blew Robert a kiss and the two of them flickered their tongues in a lewd manner at each other. It seemed to be some foreign hippy sign of affection...?

“Wait, Jimmy,” Pete called before he left, half begging him to stay. “Are you sure? Don’t you want to relax and sleep after a long day?”

Jimmy looked very serious all of a sudden. “I don’t sleep.” He walked backwards out of the room, slipping into the dark behind him dramatically. Fuck.

Pete avoided Robert’s intensely sultry gaze, and he quickly changed into the shirt Jimmy gave him and folded up his day clothes to put on top of the dresser. He stood awkwardly, debating how to get into bed platonically with Robert Plant.

He peeled back the covers and slowly slid into bed, staying on the very edge of the mattress. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Robert, it was more that he was incredibly intense and he much preferred the mysterious allure of Jimmy and—

“Robert? Rob? Are you—oh, there you are!” Roger poked his head in through the door, carrying his cup of tea. “I was in the middle of telling you a story when I noticed you had left, silly! May I come in?”

“No—“ Robert started, but was cut off by Pete’s enthusiastic “YES.”

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Roger looked suspiciously between the two of them.

“You are, which is a good thing,” Pete said quickly. “C’mere Rog, you get in right in the middle.”

Roger blushed. “Well, if you say so…”

Robert sighed. “There are extra pyjamas in the bottom left drawer, help yourself.”

Roger set his cup of tea aside and bent down seductively for the two men. He dropped his trousers as well, and seeing what was underneath suddenly grabbed Pete and Robert’s attention.  
“I have never been so conflicted in my life,” Robert murmured to himself. Pete nodded in agreement.

Roger climbed over Pete to get into the middle of the mattress, certain things brushing incredibly close to each other. 

“Wait,” Robert interrupted just as Roger got settled and comfy in the middle. “Pete, you need to get in the middle. There needs to be someone with black hair next to me at all times, or else the feng shui of my room gets thrown off and I’m more susceptible to bad spirits coming in.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” Pete said.

“Pete!” Roger gasped. “This lovely, gorgeous, sensual man offers you his home as refuge for the night and you go and ruin his feng shui? Don’t be so rude.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes,” Pete rolled his eyes. He was way too tired and sexually frustrated for this shit. He climbed over Roger with a bit of accidental full frontal grinding in the process. Except Roger didn’t move over, and Pete struggled to fit in between the two, and all three men were sandwiched together only taking up one half of the bed. To top it all off, the sound of Jimmy’s guitar strumming floated softly through the wall behind them. 

Robert rolled over on his side and draped an arm around Pete’s stomach. He smiled up at Pete flirtatiously. “Well? What now?”

Roger mirrored him, snuggling up against Pete’s side, who he was comfortable with, and draped his arm around Pete’s hips so his arm could touch Robert’s, whom he really liked. “Yeah, I’m fully awake. Got any ideas?”

“Um,” Pete said.

Robert kissed Pete’s shoulder. Roger mimicked him and kissed his cheek. It was all very tempting, but…

“Um, I’m actually quite tired, and I need to drive us home tomorrow, we should sleep,” Pete blurted out quickly. Robert pouted.

“Robert, you turn around and I’ll be the big spoon,” Pete offered, not entirely positive he wanted Robert’s cock near his bum any time that night. Fortunately, Robert thought this was a sweet gesture and happily turned around. Pete pressed up close behind him, bending his knees so his hips weren’t anywhere near Robert’s arse. He tried not to choke on the mass of curly blond hair in his mouth and nose, and wrapped an arm around Robert’s middle. With that, Roger seemed to be happy to snuggle up behind Pete, a protective arm tight around Pete’s hips, which wasn’t so bad. Pete closed his eyes and tried very hard to fall asleep as quickly as he could.


	6. the morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our pete finally gets some love  
> (but i think we know what he truly loves more than anything...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god, here we go (nsfw! finally!)

It was always one of Pete’s goals to wake up in bed with two blonds, although he never really pictured it being like this. 

There were blond curls all around his face and in his mouth and nose. It was worrying because both blond men were curled up on his chest, and he had his arms around each one, but he couldn’t remember which mass of hair belonged to Roger and which belonged to Robert. 

Both men against him were very warm and soft, and they smelled good. Pete felt protected at first, but the more he woke up, the more he felt a bit suffocated. He needed to pee really badly, and he had a dull headache from drinking last night. Even worse, he felt his massive morning wood that didn’t want to go away. Damn, damn, damn.

Pete started to get uncomfortably hot, and he gently tried to shimmy himself free from the loving embrace of his two friends. His stirring woke Roger up.

“Pete? Y’okay?” Roger asked quietly, still half asleep. His sleepy voice was deep and raspy. Pete had to admit, Roger looked so pretty like that, and his loyal instincts made Pete feel so fondly for him. Unfortunately, he also had a gigantic boner that needed to be kept concealed.

“I’m fine, Rog, go back to sleep.” Pete gently brushed a golden curl from Roger’s angelic face. 

He slowly sat up, but behind him, an arm tightened around Pete’s waist. Robert sighed. “Pete, don’t go yet, you handsome bastard.”

Pete blushed. “I’m, uh, in a bit of a predicament here, I need to get up—“

“Shh,” Robert smiled, his eyes slowly fluttering open. “Lay back.”

Pete, who was thinking a lot clearer than he was last night, decided to lay back down. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Robert curled up beside Pete again, a hand travelling down Pete’s belly and slipping under the waistband of his pyjamas. Pete looked over into his eyes as Robert wrapped his hand around his swollen cock, stroking him slowly. Pete instinctively covered his mouth to smother a whimper. Fuck, he needed this.

Roger snuggled up against Pete again, and Pete wouldn’t be surprised if he had woken up to watch. Roger lay with his hand splayed over Pete’s chest. Pete’s breath hitched as Robert’s pace quickened. Pete tried to keep still, but his hips rocked along with Robert’s stroke. Robert’s mouth fell open with a lustful sigh, and Pete leaned over to kiss his soft red lips. He felt Roger slide a leg over Pete and was moving in closer to leave little kisses down the side of his neck. Pete let out a soft sigh, his eyes fluttering closed.

There was a quick double knock at the bedroom door, which startled them. The three tore apart from one another just as Jimmy walked in, completely oblivious. “Ah, good, you’re all up. The John’s made breakfast for us all.”

“Oh, I’m starved!” Robert smiled, breathless yet distracted by a new temptation. He slide out of bed, kissed Jimmy on the cheek, and the two left for the kitchen. 

“Ah, finally, proper food,” Roger grinned, pushing the covers back and watching as Pete quickly stuffed himself back in his pyjamas. “You gonna be okay there, or do you want me to—“

Pete, frustrated and flustered, shook his head. His cheeks were burning, slightly embarrassed. “Don’t worry about it, just give me a minute.”

“Got it,” Roger couldn’t help but give him a loving pat on the knee that lingered a second too long, and then climbed out of bed and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Pete rubbed his face and sighed. He was even worse than when he woke up. He got up and tried stretching a bit, but that didn’t help much. He decided to get changed and distract himself with other thoughts while he had the privacy. When his hard on had died down enough to not be bursting out of his pyjamas, he ventured back out to the kitchen.

It still wasn’t how he expected the next morning to happen at all, but he couldn’t complain. It was sort of nice, seeing his old friends and new friends all around the table, sharing food and passing plates around, talking and laughing. Pete took a seat at the end of the table next to Roger and John, and John passed him a cup of coffee. There was a platter of eggs, bacon, and fruit already nicely prepared. Jimmy pushed the plate of toast towards him and Pete took three pieces. He hadn’t had such a plentiful breakfast in what felt like ages.

“Sleep well?” John asked quietly, a suggestive eyebrow cocked. 

“Piss off,” Pete whispered back.

“I saw three people walk into that bedroom over the course of the night, it wasn’t a big secret,” John gave him snarky grin.

Pete ignored his comment, but flashed an equally smarmy smile. “Nice shirt, by the way. Not very subtle.”

John’s face reddened once he looked down and realized he had put on John Paul Jones’ t-shirt by accident this morning. “Wait, I can explain—“

“So, anyone hear from Keith or Bonzo yet?” Robert asked from the other end of the table.

“Nope, not a phone call or anything. The van isn’t parked in the back either, I checked,” Jimmy answered.

“This is getting a little suspicious,” Pete said between bites. “I’m starting to think they wound up in trouble somewhere.”

Roger frowned. “I just really hope they’re safe.”

“Keith is smart. They’re going to be just fine,” John assured them.

“A simple phone call would be nice, though,” Pete muttered. He politely ignored the person who started playing footsies with him under the table and shoveled more food on his plate instead.

At one point, Roger got up to go to the kitchen and boil more water. Robert, who was on the other side of Roger, shifted over one seat to be next to Pete. Robert placed his hand on Pete’s thigh under the table, slowly sneaking its way up higher and higher. Pete, startled at the boldness, dropped his fork and it clattered against his plate. 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, and reached under the table to remove Robert’s hand. Roger came back just in time and took his seat back.

“So, what’s the plan for today, then?” Roger asked, blowing on his steaming cup of tea.

“I really don’t want us to overstay our welcome,” Pete said sheepishly, but was very much reassured by the members of Led Zeppelin that they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted.

“Well, I mean, worse comes to worse, we can scrape some money together to take the train home, right?” John suggested.

Pete sighed. “Yeah, but I’d have to stay with one of you guys. Keith has the keyring with my car keys and house keys on them.”

John sighed and rubbed the side of his nose with his finger. “Nice one, Pete.”

Pete kicked his leg under the table. “If we don’t hear from either of them by the end of the night, we should probably make some phone calls, though.”

Jimmy chimed in from the other end of the table. “I don’t mind driving around a bit more to look for them. I don’t have much else going on today.”

John Paul Jones innocently suggested, “Well, how about half of us drive around with the van we do have, and half of us stay behind in case they phone the flat or come home?”

Roger looked at Robert. Robert looked at Pete. Pete and Jimmy looked at each other. 

“I’ll stay!” They all shouted at once. 

John snorted. “Easy now, do we need to draw straws or something?”

The four stared at each other, hoping two of them would give up and go. 

“How about whoever stays behind has to clean the kitchen?” John suggested, having too much fun watching this play out.

No one budged.

“Fuck that, I’ll go back out and look for them,” John Paul Jones said over the massive tension between the other bandmates. 

“I’ll join you,” John agreed, laughing. “No way do I wanna be caught in the middle of this. You’d think we were all teenagers again…”

Robert and Jimmy were staring each other down, as if arguing telepathically. Roger chewed his bottom lip, praying he wouldn’t be excluded. Pete was simultaneously frightened and really fucking excited. It was nice to be the most valued object for once. And god knows he could use a little action.

“We’ll take the master bedroom, you guys can have the living room or Bonzo’s room,” Jimmy leaned over to Robert and pleaded under his breath.

“I’m just saying, you can join us if you want, but I want Pete in the master bedroom,” Robert whispered back.

Pete, John, and Roger exchanged glances.

Pete did feel sorry for Roger. Roger usually got all the girls no matter what bar they went to or what venue they played at. It must be hard for him to not be lusted over by everyone, especially when he genuinely liked Robert so much.

Jimmy and Robert stood up and quickly disappeared to the master bedroom. Pete pretended it was so they could fight to the death for his love. 

The others took that as their cue to start clearing the table. In the kitchen, they all chatted amicably. Pete still felt guilty for the whole situation, but the two bands got along so well, it was just like old friends spending the weekend together. 

Robert and Jimmy re-emerged a few minutes later, obviously still in a huff about whatever disagreement they had had. They had also gotten dressed and cleaned up while they were gone. Robert flocked right over to Roger, and to everyone’s surprise, wound a possessive arm around Roger’s waist.

“Me and Roger are going to join the brave and courageous journey to find our drummers,” Robert announced. Roger looked like a kid at Christmas.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” John remarked. He gave a teasing side glance at Pete. “Maybe I should stay behind with you guys? I’ll keep you two company.”

Pete shot him back a look. “That won’t be necessary, mate.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Well, I mean, you can if you’re into that sort of thing…” He reached behind to get the key ring from the hook on the kitchen wall and tossed the keys to Robert. “Have fun, you lot. Give us a ring if you find them.”

“Oh yeah, we’ll give you two a head’s up before we come back,” John grinned. 

Pete suddenly felt very bashful, now that surely everyone knew what they’d be up to. He turned away and busied himself with washing the breakfast dishes.

Eventually the four others gathered their jackets and put on their shoes, and left through the front door to continue their search. Jimmy said goodbye and locked the door behind them. He walked back to the kitchen and put a gentle feather-light hand on Pete’s shoulder, making him shiver. 

“Don’t worry about cleaning,” Jimmy murmured. “C’mon, I want to show you something.”

Oh, god yes. Pete nodded obediently and turned off the faucet. He wiped his soapy hands on an old dish rag and followed Jimmy into one of the bedrooms, shutting the door behind him.

This room had a smaller bed, and hardly any furniture. They used the extra space to store their kits and amps. And most importantly, Jimmy Page’s guitar collection.

Jimmy knelt down on the floor and gently opened a case to show Pete his original Futurama. Pete sat down next to him and took it, holding it like it were more precious than baby Jesus.

Pete’s breath hitched. “Good Lord, this is beautiful…” He traced a finger delicately along its sunburnt finish, marvelling at its beauty.

He placed it back in the case carefully and Jimmy cracked open the case for his Fender Telecaster. It was still painted white, and was perfectly smoothed and polished.

Jimmy looked at Pete with something playful in his expression. “Go ahead, try it.”

Pete slipped the strap on and admired how easy it was to hold. He wrapped his fingers around the neck. “Oh, god, it feels so good in my hands…” he sighed. He strummed a few chords and played some riffs from songs they were working on at the moment. Jimmy bit his lip.

It truly was a beautiful guitar, and the sound was amazing. Pete yearned for a real good quality guitar like this. He started to feel warm, his breath hitching. 

“Wait till you see this one,” Jimmy murmured. “I think you’ll love it.”

Pete forced himself to part with the Fender, and followed Jimmy over to an unusually large guitar case by the wall. He sat next to Jimmy, their arms and legs touching. He watched Jimmy’s long, thin fingers flick open the latches.

“You ready?” Jimmy asked.

Pete nodded, swallowing quickly.

With a dramatic flourish, he opened the lid of the guitar and unveiled a red double-necked Gibson. Pete moaned.

Jimmy gently took it out of the case. “You wanna try?”

Pete wiped the sweat from his brow. “I’ve never had one so big before, I don’t know if I can handle it…”

“I’ll be gentle,” Jimmy whispered. Pete watched as Jimmy’s long fingers worked their way over the bottom neck of the guitar, loosely strumming the opening riff of Whole Lotta Love, and it was like they were back at the concert last night all over again. Pete thought of how dark and powerful Jimmy had looked on stage that night.

Jimmy let go and put a hand on Pete’s leg. “I saw you in the audience when I played this. I knew I had to have you.”

A rush of adrenaline went through Pete.

Everything happened so quickly after that. Jimmy had put the guitar back in the case securely and then grabbed Pete’s face, kissing him roughly. He climbed onto Pete’s lap, and Pete grabbed Jimmy’s waist and pulled him down along with him as he lay back on the carpet. 

It was as though Jimmy knew exactly how to handle Pete. Every chunk of hair he tugged was just right, every spot he bit on Pete’s neck felt great, and every time they ground their hips together it sent sparks flying through Pete’s brain.

Thoughts of those guitars raced through Pete’s mind. They were so smooth and heavy in his hands. They looked amazing. They sounded amazing. That unique sound could fill a sold out arena and break soundwaves. Pete had also never been so hard in his life. He grabbed Jimmy even closer. 

He broke the kiss just long enough to beg, “Fuck, Jimmy, please touch me...”

In a swift move, Jimmy pinned both of Pete’s wrists above his head. With his other hand, he trailed all down Pete’s long thin body and tugged down his borrowed pyjama pants. Jimmy wrapped his long fingers around him and started stroking so achingly slow. Pete whimpered. 

Jimmy let go of his wrists and moved further down to start working on Pete with his tongue. Pete groaned and combed his fingers through Jimmy’s long hair before grabbing firmly. He thrust into Jimmy’s mouth with one long stroke, moaning at how good it felt.

Jimmy made a gorgeous gagging noise. He pulled his mouth off slowly, drool dripping from his lips. “Naughty, naughty…” he grinned and bit the inside of Pete’ bare thigh as a punishment. Pete let out a little cry, but he loved it.

Jimmy went back down, wrapping his lips around him and swallowing him slowly, inch by inch. Pete was panting, and behind closed eyes he imagined playing that gorgeous double-necked guitar. He imagined working one neck, strumming and picking like mad, and then switching necks and wind milling his arm and feeling that pure electricity vibrate through his entire body.

“F-fuck,” Pete stuttered, raising his head to look past Jimmy’s head bobbing up and down between his thighs and into the guitar case left open, where the red paint finish reflected the light. Pete arched his hips eagerly. “Jimmy, fuck, I’m so close…”

Jimmy moaned in response, his mouth beautifully full. He wrapped one hand around Pete’s base and stroked in time with the movement of his mouth. Pete felt that familiar feeling in his belly wind up tightly, and he was almost there, so close to that perfect finish, when they heard a key unlock the front door.

Jimmy pulled off of him quickly as they heard the door open down the hall. “Fuck, they’re home. I’ll be back in a moment, love.” He kissed Pete’s knee and stood up to dash out of the room quickly, pulling the door shut behind him.

“You’re back!” he heard Jimmy exclaim in the other room.

“You’ll never guess where we found them,” he heard another voice answer.

With a frustrated whimper, Pete hiked up his pyjama pants and lay on the carpet, staring up at the ceiling and catching his breath. For the second time that day, he was left right on the edge of satisfaction. Damn, damn, damn.


	7. the grand fuckin finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's the finale you've all been waiting for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you guys believe i've written over fifty pages of this shit? thanks for loving it so much <3

“Me and Roger are going to join the brave and courageous journey to find our drummers,” Robert announced. Roger looked like a kid at Christmas.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” John remarked. He gave a teasing side glance at Pete. “Maybe I should stay behind with you guys? I’ll keep you two company.”

Pete shot him back a look. “That won’t be necessary, mate.”

Jimmy shrugged. “Well, I mean, you can if you’re into that sort of thing…” He reached behind to get the key ring from the hook on the kitchen wall and tossed the keys to Robert. “Have fun, you lot. Give us a ring if you find them.”

“Oh yeah, we’ll give you two a head’s up before we come back,” John grinned. 

John, Roger, Robert and John Paul Jones made their way down to the parking lot to Led Zeppelin’s van. John Paul Jones drove and John took the passenger seat. John looked through the collection of tapes they had stuffed in the glove compartment. Turns out, all the compilations of artists he liked were on the tapes that belonged to John Paul Jones. It was about time he met someone else who appreciated the greatest bassists in music history!

Robert and Roger sat in the very back for some reason, being unnecessarily secretive. They whispered back and forth as if they were discussing top secret government information. John let the two weird ones be.

Roger was just happy to be holding hands with Robert. He thought it was the best feeling in the world. Robert, however, seemed distracted.

“Tell me, what kinds of movies does Pete like?” he asked Roger.

“Usually the real scary kinds with exorcisms and stuff. Or really profound artsy fartsy movies that I never understand but he makes me sit through them anyways,” Roger told him.  
“But, um, I like comedies. And musicals. And action movies. We should watch one sometime! Like, together. In an intimate setting.”

“What does Pete usually do on dates? Does he care much for the romantic shit or does he go straight for the kill?” Robert asked.

Roger paused to think. “I’ve seen him do both? Sometimes he has people leaving his house first thing in the morning when we come over for rehearsal, but sometimes we curl up and watch movies or go on long walks or—“

“Have you seen him, by any chance?” Robert asked tentatively.

“What? Like, literally have I seen him? Or—“

“Like, you know. Seen him.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You know. Him. The whole thing. The big prize.”

“Are you trying to…?”

“I want to know how big Pete’s dick is,” Robert rolled his eyes in frustration.

“Oh, you should have just said that.”

“I didn’t get a good sense this morning and it’s deeply troubling me. I need to know.”

“I mean, I think it’s quite nice. He’s knows what he’s doing which makes things all the better.” Roger smiled, proud of his friend.

“Wait, you’re making eavesdropping harder with all that innuendo,” John turned around to look at them. “What exactly are you talking about?”

“I want to know how big Pete’s dick is,” Robert raised his voice so John could hear.

“Pete’s dick?” John Paul Jones asked. “Why does he need to know how big Pete’s dick is?”

“John Paul Jones wants to know why you need to know how big Pete’s dick is,” John called to the back.

“I need to know how big Pete’s dick is so I can prepare myself,” Robert called back.

“I respect that,” John Paul Jones told him. 

“Honestly, it’s quite impressive, but I have seen bigger,” John told Robert. “My own personal bias, of course.”

“I agree,” John Paul Jones said. “But you have to give him some credit.”

John looked at him. “Wait, you’ve…?”

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” John Paul Jones laughed. “I just felt a little left out of the conversation.”

There was a pleasant stretch of amicable silence where everyone was left to peacefully contemplate Pete’s dick. It wasn’t until they reached a crush of midday tourist traffic that John Paul Jones broke the silence and asked, “Wait, weren’t we supposed to be looking for our friends?”

“Oh, shit, I completely forgot they existed for a moment there,” Roger said. The power of Pete’s dick had left them all in a mesmerized trance.

“Where should we even look for them? In hindsight this was just an excuse to get out of the flat and do something,” John remarked.

“We could have a repeat of yesterday and have a montage of us looking in all the tourist spots and bonding over our mutual interests?” Roger suggested.

Robert leaned his head back against the headrest. “I’m positively lovesick and it’s making me melancholic. The only thing I’m interested in bonding with is P—“

Roger’s face lit up at the mention of lovesickness, full of boyish optimism. “Really, Robert? You should have said, I feel the same way about you too!”

John cut them both off before little Roger’s heart got broken. “Hey, why don’t we look at a record store or something? We should be enjoying the fresh air like normal people.”

John Paul Jones agreed and drove down to the neighbourhood where his favourite record store was. They parked on the street and strolled down the sidewalk, window shopping and chatting. Well, the two Johns acted normal. Robert trailed behind, looking moody, and then admired how moody he looked in the reflection of the shop windows. Roger hung off of his arm with hearts in his eyes, like a child who just discovered love for the first time. John hoped he’d be let down easy. 

John decided that they’d wait until the late afternoon before they should start phoning around for any evidence of their drummers’ whereabouts. He did have a vague sinking feeling in his stomach but he tries to distract himself with other things. The record shop was quaint and the four of them enjoyed heated debates over what bands were superior to others, or what albums were most underrated. What they expected to be a vicious argument ended with them mostly agreeing on everything. The whole weekend seemed to be the two bands finding out that they had very similar tastes and being surprised about it.

“Jonesy, darling, is there a grocery store nearby?” Robert asked with a dramatic sigh as they left the record shop. “We should probably get things for our last supper together…”

John rolled his eyes. John Paul Jones stopped to think. “I’m pretty sure we passed one a block or two away, we could walk back until we find it.”

And so they did. 

“Would it be overly ambitious of me to buy condoms while we’re out?” Robert asked.

“I admire your optimism,” John thought aloud. He turned to look at Roger, who had gone three deep shades of red in the face.

“Safety first,” John Paul Jones said.

They found a modest sized family owned grocery and stopped inside. Of course, they goofed off as much as physically possible. 

Through the fresh fruits section, Roger draped himself over the bin full of lemons and sang. “Robby baby, the way you squeeze my lemon, I’m gonna fall right out of bed!”

Through the aisles of laundry detergents, John Paul Jones did stellar impressions of the cartoon mascot grandmothers, mothers, or little babies drawn on the labels. He perfected the poses and the facial expressions to a scary degree of accuracy.

Through the hygiene section, Robert found the two boxes of the biggest sized condoms available. “Oh, damn, these might be too small,” he said loudly.

They tried to find the aisle of pasta sauces for dinner that night, when suddenly John pushed past Robert and the others, and took off running.

Robert let out a dramatic gasp, the boxes of condoms flying from out of his hands gracefully as if in slow motion. “Oh whoops… I dropped my monster condoms that I use for my magnum dong!”

Roger turned the corner of the aisle just in time to see what the hell was going on. John was barreling like a rabid ox down the pasta aisle towards Keith Moon and John Bonham, who were standing at the end of the aisle minding their own business and comparing two jars of pasta sauce. John let out a weird battle cry and tackled Keith to the ground, knocking the pasta jars out of his hand and sent them flying through the air, smashing all over the linoleum floor.

John straddled Keith, pulling him up by the front of his shirt collar. He punched Keith in the face, but lovingly. “Keith! I was very worried about you and I missed you very much!”

By the time the others ran to join them, Keith looked terrified out of his wits. John Bonham, who just barely survived, plastered himself against the shelves, white as a ghost. The little old lady who they shared the aisle with pretended not to notice.

“Christ, John, get off of him!” Roger pulled the bassist off. Keith fell backwards, catching his breath. Those were the eyes of a traumatized man. He looked a little scruffy, and John noticed there was a cut on his face, one incisor tooth missing, and a Girl Scout pin on his shirt that hadn’t been there before.

“Holy fuck,” John Bonham said.

“Literally what the hell is going on ever with you guys,” John Paul Jones said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“My extra-large condoms weren’t damaged guys, don’t worry,” Robert reminded them.

John helped Keith up and hugged him, now joyous. “What the hell happened to you two? We’ve been searching all of Brighton, day and night, tired and heartbroken, preparing for the worst…”

Keith and John Bonham looked at each other. 

“Uh, it’s a bit of a long story…” Keith started. He changed the topic quickly. “Hey, where’s Pete and Jimmy?”

“They stayed behind at the flat in case you had the courtesy to ring us to say you were safe,” John glared, flipping back to anger again. 

“So, they’re fucking?” Keith asked. Everyone nodded. 

“Five quid says they’re in the living room and we’re going to walk right in on them,” John said.

“No, they probably didn’t even have the patience leave the kitchen,” John Paul Jones said.

“Jimmy’s a bedroom guy only,” Robert told them. Everyone pulled out their wallets, handing bet money over to John.

Now they stood awkwardly in the middle of the pasta aisle. 

“You two have a lot of explaining to do,” John told them. “It better be a damn good story, too.”

“Let’s get them back to the flat, yeah?” Roger suggested. 

Everyone started to leave when a pimply teenager in the grocery store apron walked past, stopping when he saw the shattered jar of pasta sauce all over the ground. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

The six men broke out into a run, sprinting around the back of the store, and out through the in door, which with a little tweaking would sound like a pretty cool album name. Keith leapt over an old lady’s grocery cart, the last one to narrowly escape the wrath of pimply authority. They ran down the street to where John Paul Jones parked the Led Zeppelin van. 

“I can’t believe I stole these extra-large condoms!” Robert shouted down the street.

Everyone dove into the van, full of adrenaline even though literally no one was actually chasing them, but they felt good about themselves so that’s all that really matters. 

“Wait,” John said, catching his breath. “Where’s Pete’s van?”

“I parked it around the block, where—“ Keith was cut off by John Bonham elbowing him in the ribs. “Yeah. Around the corner. Nothing weird.”

John squinted suspiciously. 

“We just have to…erm, remove something first,” John Bonham reminded Keith less than subtly.

“Oh, fuck,” Keith winced. “Yeah, alright. So we’re meeting you at Bonzo’s flat, yeah?”

John waved an accusatory finger at Keith. “Not so fast. We’re going to tailgate you the whole time. We sort of don’t trust you to be on your own ever again.”

Keith shrugged. “Fair enough. We’ll pull the van round and you can follow us after.”

Before anyone could object, Keith and John Bonham left the van quickly. John rolled down the window and watched them walk around the block until they were out of sight. He still glared suspiciously anyways.

“You just…fucking tackled him, man….” John Paul Jones said quietly. 

John shrugged. “There was no actual reason why. It just felt like a good way to transition into a climactic moment, you know?”

“I feel that.”

In the back, Roger gazed at Robert dreamily. He was holding the stolen boxes of condoms. “It says here that latex condoms are intended to prevent pregnancy, HIV/AIDS, and other sexually transmitted diseases.”

“Mhmm.”

Roger bit his lip, and batted his eyelashes. “That’s pretty hot.”

In the front seat, John felt personally victimized for having to endure listening to Roger try to be seductive.

To everyone’s relief, Pete’s beat up van eventually emerged from around the corner. Keith drove, and of course he started honking like a madman to piss everyone off. John Paul Jones started up the van and followed after them.

They were home a few minutes later. The six of them parked and made their way upstairs to the rented flat. John Paul Jones placed his ear against the front door, but shook his head. He couldn’t hear Pete and Jimmy.

“Alright lads, I’m not responsible for any mentally scarring sights you might see when I open the door,” John Paul Jones warned as he slid the key in the lock. Everyone pushed in right away, disappointed to see absolutely nothing. 

A moment later, Jimmy emerged from one of the bedrooms, looking dishevelled, clearly not expecting their sudden homecoming. 

“Told you,” Robert said. John handed him the wad of bet money from his wallet.

“You’re back!” Jimmy exclaimed.

“You’ll never guess where we found them,” John Paul Jones told him.

“I’m quite eager to hear the whole story!” Jimmy was overly-enthusiastic, clearly over compensating and trying to look normal.

“Home sweet home!” John Bonham threw his hands in the air, and then ran over to collapse on the couch. Keith ran and jumped on top of him, the two laughing like loons.

John and John Paul Jones sat together on the other couch, followed by Robert and Roger. Jimmy sat next to the drummers. John was giddy with excitement, waiting for Pete to make his grand appearance. When he finally did, it was absolutely rich. Pete emerged from the dark hallway with the most frustrated, glaring expression on his face. He looked like a fucking mess with his hair sticking up all over the place, and he still had his pyjamas on. He leaned in the doorway, arms folded. John snorted.

“Have a nice nap there, luv?” John asked.

“Eat a dick, John.”

John Paul Jones leaned over to John. “See, he’s only got one thing on his mind.”

“Speaking of eating,” Robert said. “I meant to get something for dinner but we ended up committing a felony and beating the shit out of Keith, so I say we order in. I’m quite hungry.”

John leaned over to John Paul Jones. “I can’t imagine Jimmy would be hungry, he looks like he’s just had a mouthful.”

“That sounds good to me,” Keith beamed. “Can we stay for dinner, Pete? Please?”

“One, I can’t afford to pitch in for my share of the meal,” Pete told him. “Two, we need to get home. We all have jobs to go to tomorrow morning, remember?”

John Paul Jones leaned over to John. “Someone’s grouchy because they didn’t finish…”

“Oh, come on, Pete!” Roger pleaded. “This is our life now. Me and Robert are in lo—“

“Actually,” John cut him off quickly to avoid any extra damage. “Pete does have a point. Thanks to a certain someone kidnapping another certain someone, we’ve all certainly overstayed our welcome trying to solve the mystery of our missing drummers.”

“It was hardly a mystery, more like glorified hide and seek,” Pete grumbled. “Who the hell thought of the title for this thing?”

“Maybe what we really found was the friendship along the way,” John Paul Jones said.

John Bonham looked at Keith. “Wait, did I kidnap you? Or did you kidnap me?”

“I’m pretty sure I kidnapped you because I did all the driving,” Keith said.

“But I convinced you to kidnap me, so I think it evens out,” John thought.

“Cool.”

“You haven’t overstayed you welcome,” Jimmy reassured everyone. “We’re sad to see you go.”

John Paul Jones and John looked at each other.

“Counterpoint,” Robert lifted an elegant finger in the air.

“Robert says he has a counterpoint,” Roger echoed.

“I just won a bet, let me pay for dinner,” Robert smiled graciously. “And then we can hear exactly what happened in this volunteer hostage situation. I’m intrigued.”

“Yeah, we’re really intrigued, Robert and me,” Roger added.

Pete pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Really, I’d love to stay, but we do need to make the drive back home before it gets too late.”

“Don’t you worry, darling. Just stay a few more hours,” Jimmy told him.

John leaned over to John Paul Jones. “What are the odds that someone is going to try to sneak Pete into their bedroom one last time tonight?”

“I can personally feel the sexual tension in the room. I hope someone at least gets it in, or else one of us might actually die of frustration,” John Paul Jones answered.

Robert stood up slowly. “Silly me, I seem to have misplaced the take out menus. Pete, will you help me look for them? I think they were left in my bedroom.”

“I can help, I have really good eyesight,” Roger jumped up and tugged on Robert’s sleeve.

“Robert, you dummy,” John Bonham shifted a few magazines on the coffee table and pulled the menus out from underneath. “They’re right here!”

“Thank you, Bonzo,” Robert smiled tightly. Pete looked physically pained.

John Paul Jones leaned over to John. “I genuinely feel bad for him.”

Robert went into the kitchen to phone the restaurant. Roger followed him like a shadow. From the other room they heard him say, “Gosh, Robert, you look so pretty when you dial the phone like that…”

Pete took a seat next to John and John Paul Jones on the couch. If he so much as brushed Jimmy’s leg if he sat down beside him, he’d literally cum in his pants.

“I swear to God, this is what dying feels like,” Pete told them under his breath.

John leaned over to John Paul Jones. “I’m surprised no one’s initiated some friendly group orgy yet.”

Robert and Roger came back moments later, carrying eight bottles of beer. “I ordered a feast suit for kings, which we are,” Robert announced, and the two of them handed everyone a cold beer. “Cheers to our new friends. Let’s stay together forever.”

Robert squished himself next to Pete on the couch, and Roger sat on the other side of Pete, which was an acceptable substitute.

“You’re all welcome to stay over at mine next time you’re in town,” Pete offered, clinking bottles with everyone. A bottle opener was passed around. Keith tried to open a bottle with his teeth like he usually did to get a few laughs, but he suddenly cried out in pain and clutched his mouth.

“Fuck! I forgot I lost that tooth,” he wailed.

“Yeah, I was sort of curious about that,” John asked.

Keith looked at John Bonham. “Actually, we’re going to have to start at the very beginning.”

“Well, go on!” Jimmy encouraged them.

Keith pretended to crack his knuckles, and John Bonham cleared his throat and pretended to crack his neck. Everyone laughed, the eight of them properly relaxing for the first time that weekend. Robert leaned back into Pete, and Roger put his chin on Pete’s shoulder. It was nice.

“It all started one dark, stormy evening,” Keith announced, putting on his goofy posh voice.

“I had just finished the gig and I felt on top of the world,” John Bonham spoke darkly, like he was telling ghost stories at a campfire.

“I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, when my spidey senses went off!” Keith exclaimed. “I felt another drummer approaching.”

“I approached him as if we were pulled together by destiny.”

“I felt as though it was written in the stars, I just had to buy him drink. He said he’d take the strongest drink available. I then knew that this was only the beginning of our lifelong story.”

John Bonham dropped his voice low. “One drink became another, we were talking, and suddenly I decided that I needed to show my new friend my most favourite place in all of Brighton.”

“I told him I had a ride. Truly, Pete, I didn’t intend on being out long,” Keith grinned apologetically. “But once you saw that place, you’d understand why.”

“I gave him cryptic directions to a Chinese food restaurant downtown. We parked in a neighbourhood a few blocks away and walked over just to be safe.”

“It was like I was in an Ian Fleming novel. I didn’t know places like this actually existed.”

“He doesn’t just mean the Chinese restaurant,” John Bonham clarified. “Young Keith Moon thought he knew all there was to know about Chinese restaurants in Great Britain, but he couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“I thought John Bonham was going to treat me to a romantic candlelight dinner and a night of sweet lovemaking, but I much preferred what he did instead.”

“I took Keith Moon to the back of the restaurant, giving the young waitress at the cash register a special nod and wink combination, and took him past the beaded curtain and down the dark stairwell.”

“I was shaking in my boots, but at that moment I trusted John Bonham with my life.”

“Downstairs was none other than…” John Bonham held for the suspense. “An underground gambling ring!”

“Ta-da!” 

“Oh, god,” Pete muttered. He’d have to lecture Keith on the ride home about not going to illegal gambling rings. This would not be the first time.

John Bonham continued. “The family that runs the restaurant started letting a few friends play poker in their store room, and they took a cut off the top at the end of the night to cover the beer and peanuts they supplied the players. But the cuts kept getting bigger and bigger with the more people who played. So they invested in cards and tokens, and more chairs and tables. They spread the word, and let other trusted guests come to play. And every night, they took a larger cut from everyone’s winnings.”

“But fear not, gentle friends,” Keith Moon assured them. “They put the money aside to pay for their eldest daughter’s university tuition in the United States of America, god bless.”

“The moral of the story is, it’s not illegal if you’re helping children’s education and wellbeing.”

“Their daughter is a very sweet girl, I met her last time I was there. I was more than happy to bet my shoes if it meant she was going to be independent in this cruel, sexist world.”

“And so, we gambled,” Keith told them. “We gambled with the best of the best in Brighton. Proper poker wizards, they were.”

“We gambled our hearts out. We forged friendships. We discovered more about ourselves than we could have ever imagined. And we helped support the future of England’s next generation.”

“Until, tragedy struck!” Keith and John Bonham slapped their wrists to their foreheads and gasped dramatically. 

“I had run out of money!” Keith exclaimed. “I hadn’t a shilling left in me lil’ pockets.”

“And even worse, my dear friend had just lost a game against the master himself. He was so powerful and well-respected that we weren’t even allowed to know his name.”

“Technically, I owed him 72 virgins and my first born son. I had to think of a way to repay my loan if I ever wanted to see daylight again!”

“I took my poor, financially challenged friend for a huddle in the loo,” John Bonham said. “We devised the perfect heist plan. I was going to convince everyone I was actually part of MI6 and this was a police bust. Everyone would scramble and debts would be forgotten.”

“Except we were trapped!”

“When he opened the door, we found the Master waiting for us with his two henchmen!”

“They threatened us if we couldn’t pay back the Master.”

“Except Keith here thought he was good at negotiating. He offered to pawn something off from the van.”

“So I lead these scary guys out to the van because I figure, well hey, it’s not even mine.”

“Why I oughta…” Pete wagged his fist at Keith, and everyone laughed.

“When we walked out to the van, the Master took one look in the trunk and wanted John’s bass,” Keith continued.

“Keith!” John lurched forward, threatening to strangle Keith. “Swear to me you didn’t—“

John Bonham swatted John’s hands away, protecting Keith. “Wait, it gets better.”

Keith cleared his throat. “So, I let him have the bass. He sits on the curb and strums it for a bit. He looks like a kid discovering music for the first time, and my heart broke a million times over.”

“He decides he’ll take it, and he puts it back in the case and gets his henchman to carry it because it’s too heavy and he’s a frail old geezer,” John Bonham continued.

“So here’s where I redeem myself, friends,” Keith grinned at his own brilliance. “I slip the car keys into Bonzo’s back pocket. Just as we’re preparing to go walk back to the restaurant, I kick the henchman in the back of the knee and he takes a tumble. I grab the guitar case from him and bolt down the street!”

John Bonham moved to the edge of his seat. “I clued in quickly, and leapt into the van. I pulled out of my space and blocked the street so Keith could further ahead, until the henchman literally jumped onto the hood of the van! He rolled off like a damn pro and chased Keith down the street. I put the car in gear and chased the two of them until the bumper was touching the back of his heels.”

“In hindsight, we probably could have killed him,” Keith remarked. “But he made the smart move and eventually got off the road and let me off the hook. Bonzo slowed down just enough so I could toss the bass in and jump in the van.”

“I swear to god, you almost broke my heart there,” John wiped imaginary sweat from off his head. “My poor bass!”

“Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you.” Keith blew John a kiss.

“But that still doesn’t explain how you lost your tooth, or got your face scratched up,” Roger added, resting his head against Pete’s.

“Or how you got that little pin on your shirt,” Pete joined in.

“Oh, we haven’t even gotten to THAT part yet,” John Bonham and Keith grinned devilishly at each other.

“Well, go on, then!” Jimmy egged them on. “You’ve got me really invested now.”

“You start,” John Bonham told Keith.

“Alright, alright. So we’re driving, proper hurtling down this little suburb until the restaurant is a tiny speck in the rear mirror. We’re finally safe, or so we think.”  
“We had all that adrenaline rushing through us, so we needed to do something wild to top it all off.”

John and John Paul Jones looked at each other.

“So, we decided—“ Keith was cut off by a knock at the door. Everyone fell silent.

“Uh, delivery?” a pubescent squeak came from behind the door.

“Oh,” everyone sighed. 

“Quick five minute intermission!” Keith called. 

Empty beer bottles were put to the side and everyone got up to stretch. Robert walked over to the door, Roger following him as usual. Robert swung open the door and found an innocent looking teenaged boy, probably no older than nineteen. 

“Aren’t you adorable,” Robert purred.

The delivery boy looked uncomfortable. 

Robert took his earnings from his wallet and paid the delivery boy what he owed, plus a generous tip. Roger grabbed the bags of steaming hot Chinese food. In the kitchen, there was a tangle of plates being handed over, forks distributed, and napkins handed out. When no one was looking, Jimmy brushed into Pete, or placed a hand on the small of his back if he needed to get past him. Pete, who had just finally settled back down, was being pulled right back to the edge again. If no one touched him that night he was literally going to die. His borrowed pyjamas weren’t doing much to conceal him either. 

Pete contemplated for a moment, watching everyone settle back down in the living room. Pete snuck off back to the bedrooms and changed into his jeans and shirt from yesterday, which hid his raging boner a bit better. All the fabric brushing over sensitive skin didn’t help. He debated just having a go at it right then and there, but decided against it. Pete did some stretches and thought about the Queen naked, which helped a bit.

He emerged into the living room once more, and luckily no one really noticed his change of clothes. He sat down next to Roger again, who snuggled in next to him with a sleepy smile. Roger was just happy that at least someone was paying attention to him. 

Small cardboard boxes and hot aluminum plates filled to the brim with hot noodle dishes were passed around, everyone taking generous heaps. All eight of them were well fed, cozy, and happy in good company. Pete kissed Robert’s cheek quickly. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I know how you can pay me back later,” Robert patted his knee. He waved his fork at Keith and John Bonham. “On with the story! It’s too good, I’m doubting it’s real.”

Keith nudged John Bonham to start again. With a mouthful of noodles, John Bonham started to narrate again. “Right. So, we’re all fired up, blasting music in the car and driving around fast, enjoying the city lights. We drove past a diner and decided that we needed to eat. So I looped around the block and pulled in. We got greasy food to fuel us on our journey.”

“Aha!” John interrupted. “We looked there for you guys. Apparently we were an hour too late.”

Keith tutted. “Not good, Sherlock. Not good.”

John Bonham slurped on some noodles. “We decided to go down to the beach because it’d be empty. If there weren’t any kids around we could say curse words all we want.”

“I decided this night was one to celebrate, because me and my new friend cheated death and tricked a gambling master,” Keith bit into a chicken ball. “So we set out a blanket on the sand, smoked a ton of weed, ate greasy food and looked at the stars.”

“My weed!” Pete cried. “You owe me, you bugger.”

“Of course, my love,” Keith reassured him. “You never really take the time to look at the stars and think about your place in the universe. We’re so small, you know? It makes you wonder, why was I put here? Am I on my way to doing what I was meant to do? What does the universe have in store for me? Am I who I really should be? Why was I put here, and why now? What is my purpose?” Keith shovelled more noodles into his mouth. “And some other shit like that. Who knows, I was high. I’ll be damned though, I learned more about John Bonham that night than I think I knew about myself. You just don’t have heart to heart chats like that every day. We connected on a spiritual level, you feel me?”

Everyone nodded. 

“So we were sitting there in tears, overjoyed with all the beauty in the world. We went from being on top of the game back to stardust. We were raw, emotional, vulnerable,” John Bonham continued. “And then we heard this baby crying. It just wrenched our hearts. What kind of arse leaves their baby on the beach in the middle of the night? We could have sworn we were the only ones there.”

“So, I’m going full paternal mode here,” Keith started. “At that point, I had convinced myself that my true purpose on his earth was to save his baby and nurse it back to health, raising it as my own. I remember standing up and running around the beach, trying to find where that mewling was coming from. And right by the garbage can was a little baby, already walking on two legs, stumbling around.”

Roger dropped his fork, clutching his heart. “Oh, my word…”

Keith chewed loudly. “I bend down to talk to it, you know? I’m like, ‘hey little guy, I’m going to be your father now. I love you so much. C’mere’. I make all them kissing noises at it and pick it up. I started cuddling it, and it felt so good, like it was really one of my own children. I swore to myself that I would love this child for the rest of my life.”

John’s bottom lip quivered.

John Bonham continued. “We owe all this to Pete’s weed, though. That shit was fucked up. I don’t know what extra ingredients got put in there, but it tripped us way out. I walk over to Keith and I see that he’s standing by the trash holding a fucking cat! And I was like, ‘Keith, why are you holding a cat?’, and Keith was sobbing, telling me it was his son and he loved him so much.”

“But what neither of us knew…” Keith told us. “…was that it wasn’t a baby, nor a cat. It was a raccoon! My beautiful raccoon son!”

“I guess I startled it, because when it saw me, it struggled to get out of Keith’s arms and it scratched him right across the face. Keith dropped it and the raccoon ran off into the night, and I had to comfort the poor lad for the loss of his first son.”

John Paul Jones wiped a tear from his eye. 

“Should we take Keith to the doctor’s for that?” Roger whispered in Pete’s ear. Pete nodded.

“That was the most heartbreaking moment of my life. I’m still not quite healed,” Keith admitted. Everyone reached over to pat him comfortingly.

“So that explains the cut, what about your tooth? And the pin?” Jimmy asked.

“Oh boy,” Keith and John Bonham laughed.

“Alright, so,” John Bonham started, putting his empty plate to the side. “We may have questionable lifestyles, but we are not dumb men. Me and Keith are now realizing that we smoked more psychedelic shit in that mix than we originally thought. Neither of us are fit to drive, so we leave the van and walk around. I’m trying to find my favourite pub, but I’m like, ‘oh shit, Keith, my feet are turning into sand’.”

“And I was like, I can’t let my friend completely dissolve into sand and leave me forever. So somehow I grabbed him and did the fireman’s carry, and I carried him to the first pub I could find to get him a restorative drink.”

“We’re sitting at the bar, and I’m sipping this damn good ale, thinking about how I was going to use the foot pedal on my drum kit without any feet.”

“And then, I saw her.” Keith clapped a hand over his heart. “The most beautiful lass my eyes ever did gaze upon. She sat beside me at the bar, looking all shy and coy. I started talking to her, and I told her I was just grieving the loss of my son. She started crying, she felt so bad for me, and I started crying too, and we were hugging and crying all over the damn place. Then she reached to her jacket she had hanging off the back of her chair. She unpinned this little heart pin, and put it on my shirt. Turns out, her daughter’s in the girl guides, yeah? And her daughter earned the bravery pin for breaking her arm or some shit, but bless her little heart, she gave the pin to her mum so she could stay strong while her mum and her dad were getting divorced. And now, this lovely woman was giving me this bravery pin because she said I needed it more than she did. I was proper falling in love, even though I was tripping shit, some things just make sense. So she’s holding my hand, patting it comfortingly—“

“That’s when I look over,” John Bonham said. “And I see this giant hulking man looming over Keith. Before I know it, he’s shouting stuff like, ‘oi mate, get yer mitts off me girlfriend!’ and then he grabs Keith by the collar of his shirt and tosses him off the seat. I try and do something but my brain’s going in slow motion, and I can’t see because my eyes are filling with sand!”

“No thanks to Bonzo, I’m left to fight for my honour. I tell him I just lost my son! But he doesn’t care. So I punch him in the gut for being so insensitive. He hits me back right away, right in the mouth, and my poor tooth goes flying out, never to be seen again. Just like my child.”

“I remember the bar tender getting off his lazy arse and interfering, and he kicks all four of us out. I’m glad because we still didn’t have any money to pay for the drinks. The pretty girl apologizes quickly and drags her shitty boyfriend off back to their car. There’s blood pouring out of Keith’s mouth and also I’m drunk and stoned, so I threw up outside of a stationary store all over the pavement.”

“At that point, I’m feeling exhausted,” Keith said, putting his dishes to the side. “So much happened in one day. I couldn’t believe that just that morning I was on a road trip with my friends to see a simple concert. So, I take Bonzo by the arm and we wander around until we stumble upon the van. We put on some music and drive back to the beach, which is still empty. I looked out at the ocean and mourned my son for the last time.”

“Then I take the middle seats, and Keith takes the back. We lock the doors and we fall asleep as soon as we lay down.”

Keith cringed. “We wake up and it’s too sunny out, the air in the van is stale, and we both feel sick as dogs. We scramble out and throw up in the garbage cans on the beach where all those families and tourists can see. We need some time to properly sit and remember what happened, so we went to a breakfast restaurant and tried to piece together everything that happened. We still didn’t have any money to pay, so we said we forgot our wallets in the van and ran out.”

“I’ll go back and pay them, I promise,” John Bonham assured everyone. “We were starting to feel a bit better later, and we realized that none of our friends knew where we were. I figured you had all gone back to the flat like normal people after the show.”

“I felt bad because I know you guys worry about me all the time, so I thought I’d at least offer to make everyone dinner to make up for it. We go to a grocery store and we go pick up supplies to make a nice pasta dinner even though we still didn’t have any money because we gambled it away to Chinese gambling lords. But that’s okay because the next thing I know, I’m being tackled to the ground by none other than John Entwistle.”

“And we come full circle!” John laughed. John Paul Jones applauded.

“The end!” Keith and John Bonham chorused.

“That was one fucking emotional journey,” Pete said. “We should turn that into a full concept album. Or a rock opera, if you will.”

“Imagine if our claim to fame was an album based off of Keith Moon cuddling a raccoon and puking everywhere?” Roger said, and everyone laughed. Little did they know, the memory of Keith’s raccoon baby would go on to inspire such works such as Tommy, Quadrophenia, and Lifehouse. 

“I am profoundly moved by that story,” Robert said solemnly.

“I’d let you guys off the hook after a tale like that,” Jimmy said. “If it weren’t for you loons, things definitely would have turned out a lot different between all of us.”

And Pete probably wouldn’t be so sexually frustrated he was going to die.

“So, are we forgiven?” Keith Moon asked, smiling.

“I’ll consider it,” Pete teased. “You owe me a lot of chores around the house to make up for it.”

“Aye aye, captain!”

Later on, everyone lazily cleaned up. The kitchen was crowded again as dishes were washed and garbage was thrown out. Pete washed the dishes, Keith dried, and Jimmy put them away. Roger helped put away all the leftovers. They were like one, big, happy, gay-ass family. They did have to take their leave eventually, though. 

“Right, well, how about heading home, then?” John said. 

“Please, can we stay just a bit longer?” Keith pleaded, but Roger was already yawning and the action of that weekend was catching up to everyone.

“Yeah, it’s about time we get ready to leave. Pete, are you driving?” Roger asked.

“Wait, I need to get my jacket first,” Pete said, walking to the bedroom. Jimmy didn’t think twice about following him. Robert followed Jimmy. Roger followed Robert, shutting the bedroom door behind them. The four stood in the middle of the room, staring at each other. 

They had no clue how to go about this. Who would make the first move? Who would get Pete first? Who would pay attention to poor Roger? 

No one moved. 

“How long do you think we have until the others notice we’ve disappeared?” Pete whispered, breathless with anticipation. “I won’t take very long, and if someone makes me cum I swear I’ll fall in love with you at this point.”

The other three all started to move to him at once.

“Wait,” Robert said, everyone halting. “Let’s rock-paper-scissors this bitch like civilized adults.”

Pete sat through four agonizing rounds before he gave up. “Seriously, you guys. Anyone?”

Robert decided to make the first move, and he threw himself into Pete’s arms. “Oh, I just can’t possibly stand to let you leave, my love.”

Pete held him close, stroking his hair comfortingly. “We’ll see each other again, don’t fret.” He looked over Robert’s head and saw something in Roger’s eyes that made his heart break. Pete thought for a moment. “Go sit down for a sec, yeah?”

Robert obeyed with a melancholic sigh. He sat on the edge of the bed.

“Now, close your eyes. I’m going to give you a goodbye kiss,” Pete told him.

“Why do I have to close my eyes?” Robert asked.

“Because, uh,” Pete bit his bottom lip. “I’m terribly bashful. Go on, close your eyes.”

Robert closed his eyes and puckered his lips. Pete gestured Roger to come over. Roger slowly stepped forward, his big puppy dog eyes looking so sad. He leaned forward and gave Robert a first and last kiss, tender and chaste. With a defeated head hung, Roger left the room quietly.

Robert’s cheeks reddened. “Oh my god, Pete. I felt fireworks! It’s meant to be!”

Pete looked at Jimmy, placing a finger over his lips and begging for his silence. Robert opened his eyes, gone all gooey and warm for the kiss he thought Pete had given him.

“Alright, um, that’s our goodbye for now, but you all have to visit again soon, promise?” Pete asked.

“Of course we will, darling,” Robert purred. “Leave me to dream about that tender kiss so now I have a reason to come back for more.” 

“Uh, okay,” Pete forced a big smile. “Bye for now.” Robert jangled his bracelets, then grabbed a pair of scissors from the top of the dresser and left the room as well. The second the door shut again, Pete looked over at Jimmy.

“Well?” Pete smiled. Jimmy gave him a look that sent him stirring all over again. Locking eyes, they climbed back onto the bed. Pete stretched out on his back and Jimmy crawled over him. They shared a deep kiss, one they had been waiting forever to continue. 

“Mm,” Jimmy kissed down Pete’s jaw. “I wouldn’t let you leave without a proper goodbye, now would I?”

Pete closed his eyes and sighed. He felt Jimmy’s delicate fingers work their way down to the button on his jeans and the zipper. Pete let his mind wander back to those delicate fingers working their way across the frets on that double-necked guitar. As Jimmy stroked him, he thought about owning one of those guitars himself, and how great it must feel to play something so powerful.

Pete covered his mouth to keep quiet as he felt Jimmy’s lips back on him, where they should be. Jimmy’s small tongue teasing his over-sensitive skin felt divine, and he found himself already winding up again towards his much anticipated finish.

Pete threaded his free hand through Jimmy’s long hair, gently coaxing him to swallow deeper. Pete thought about his guitar back home again, and he let a moan slip. At that moment, Keith flung open the bedroom door and shouted, “Oh, gross!”

“Keith!” Pete shouted back, ripped from his warm state of ecstasy. Once more, Pete was left on the edge with his boner just hanging out in the open for everyone in the world to see. “I am going to fucking kill you—“

“What’s all the shouting for? What happened?” John and John Paul Jones rushed to the doorway, then they both burst out laughing. 

“Oh my god,” Pete scrambled to cover himself. But it was too late, because Robert and Roger showed up too, standing on their tiptoes to see what was going on over everyone’s heads. 

“Oh, so that’s how big he is,” Robert remarked. “Sweet Jesus.”

“Can everyone please stop looking at my penis?” Pete cried as he tried to button his jeans back up with great difficulty.

Beside him, Jimmy was giggling, his face red from embarrassment. “Oh, boy. This’ll make for an interesting story to tell.”

Pete nearly strangled him. Did he think this was a joke? He stood up, and shamelessly stuffed his big ol’ wiener back into his jeans in front of all his friends. “You’ve all killed every chance of my happiness this weekend. Let’s just go home so I can end my suffering.”

John had tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. He swung an arm around Pete’s shoulders sympathetically. “Oh, come on, mate. How can you suffer knowing you’ve got that huge thing packed away in your trousers?”

Pete ignored him and handed his car keys to him instead. “Go unlock the van. Everyone get in.”

He separated the members of The Who from the members of Led Zeppelin, herding his boys out the front door. 

The four Led Zeppelin boys waved at Pete. 

“Thanks again for coming to see us the other night,” John Paul Jones said.

“We’re glad we got to meet you,” John Bonham added.

“We hoped you enjoyed the show,” Robert said sincerely.

“Yeah, well, I hope you all enjoyed mine,” Pete snorted. He was so sexually frustrated he couldn’t even think properly. Any shred of dignity he had left was now obliterated. He may as well laugh about it before he threw himself off a cliff.

“I’ll see you again very soon, I promise,” Jimmy smiled sympathetically. He took Pete’s hand and kissed it. “One day we’ll do things properly.”

Robert walked Pete to the door. Robert handed him a sealed, unmarked envelope discreetly and whispered, “I’ll be back for you.” Robert then licked the side of Pete’s face as some weird voodoo hippy sign of affection. Pete waved goodbye to his new friends one last time and left the flat. 

He was pleased to find Roger waiting for him. “Christ almighty.”

“You can say that again,” Roger sighed. Pete wrapped an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders as they walked down the stairs. 

“Are you going to be okay, mate?” Pete asked quietly. 

Roger shrugged, playing it casual. “I dunno. Probably.” 

Pete kissed the side of his head. He took the envelope Robert gave him, and slipped it in the back pocket of Roger’s jeans. 

For the first time in his life, Pete was looking forward to a regular work week where things would be normal again. They made it out to the van just as the sun was setting, giving them a few hours to get home before proper tiredness would set in. Pete took the driver’s seat, and Roger was his loyal passenger seat companion. John sat in the middle bench, cradling his bass like a mother who had lost sight of her baby. Or a raccoon baby, if you will. Keith sat curled up in the back, wearing one of John Bonham’s hooded sweatshirts.

“Alright,” Pete chewed on his bottom lip, already planning how many hours of sleep he might be able to get before work tomorrow. “Fuck. We gotta get home.”

Roger tore open the envelope. “Oh my fucking god. Pete, he cut off a lock of his hair to give to us!”

“Shit,” Pete furrowed his eyebrows. “What are we supposed to do with it?”

Roger held the envelope to his chest, looking out the window dramatically. “I’m going to treasure it forever…”

There was a comfortable silence between the four of them as they drove through the city, reflecting on the events of the craziest weekend they’d had in years. Finally their intense, steamy, homoerotic weekend was over. But they were naïve to think that that would be their only homoerotic weekend with the members of Led Zeppelin…

It didn’t take long before Pete’s body betrayed him again, reminding him of the hot gay action he’d had that day and how it left him more unsatisfied than a horny teenager on a family vacation. As he navigated through the city streets, his body stiffened up again, and he started stewing in his grumpiness. In fact, now that he had time to properly think about it, Pete had never felt so tense and irritable in his life. Three times! Three times in one day, he was touched and brought right to the very edge, and then left to rot. All he needed was a simple orgasm, was that too much to ask? 

Pete drove, hands tightly gripping the wheel, going just a bit too fast, and his other leg bouncing like mad. His anxious energy was almost palpable. They hadn’t even reached the highway when the gas light came on, and for the first time they all noticed that there was only a sliver left on the meter. 

Pete spoke very quietly and very slow, holding back every ounce of white hot anger inside of him. “Keith, why didn’t you bother to tell me we were low on gas?”

Keith swallowed quickly, not entirely sure that he was safe from Pete’s wrath all the way in the back seat. “It totally slipped my mind. I’m really, really sorry, mate…”

The meter drained quickly because the dumb fucking shit van guzzled so much gas that he couldn’t afford to keep filled because his band wasn’t making any fucking money.

“Pete, you’ll be fine,” Roger said gently. “Look, we can see the gas station from here.”

John leaned forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths, mate…”

Pete didn’t know much about cars, but he was so goddamn angry at the world that he thought it would make sense that if he drove faster, they would make it farther. He narrowed his eyes, and gripped the wheel tighter.

“Pete, don’t—“

Pete slammed his foot on the gas, lurching the stupid piece of shit van forward as they hurtled down the remaining stretch of empty road. Everyone was flung back in their seats and decided they were probably going to die in the next few moments. The goddamn fucking van gunned down its last few yards before the engine groaned, clanked, and started slowing down.

Pete went dangerously quiet. “No.”

“Lord have mercy on us all,” John whispered quickly.

“FUCK,” Pete shouted at the shitty fucking van. “YOU PIECE OF SHIT.”

“Pete, c’mon love,” Roger pleaded.

“DON’T YOU DARE SLOW DOWN.” The shitty fucking van disobeyed and rolled to a dead stop, literally one metre away from the entrance to the gas station.

“WHY IS THIS THE PERFECT METAPHOR FOR MY LIFE,” Pete screeched. He punched the steering wheel, the honk startling everybody. The rest of them stayed frozen, scared that any sudden movement would frighten their now rabid bandmate. 

Roger cleared his throat gently. If anything happened, Pete would murder him first because he was closest, so he decided to sacrifice himself. “Pete, why don’t you step out and get some fresh air, yeah? We’ll push the van from here.” The devastating thing was that they were literally feet away from the gas pumps. The road was relatively clear, but Pete probably would have stepped out into traffic anyways. He walked around to the other side of the fucking dumbass van.

“GOD IS DEAD,” he kicked the back tire. “GOD IS-“ kick “DEAD-” kick “GOD-“ kick “IS-“ kick “DEAD-“ kick.

“Fucking hell, I have never seen a man that frustrated before,” Keith said quietly. 

“Alright, everyone hand over some gas money,” John told them. They all kept a careful eye on Pete outside and took out their wallets, handing cash over to John.

Roger stepped out, and the others watched the brave soul approach Pete. He got Pete to sit down on the dusty ground beside him. Roger let Pete put his head in his lap so Roger could stroke his hair while the poor guy nearly had a nervous breakdown. Roger made eye contact with the other two and nodded, giving them the signal that it was safe to get out.

Between John and Keith, the two of them managed to push the back of the stupid dumb fucking van the few measly feet to the gas pumps. Roger helped Pete back up and wrapped an arm around his waist, helping him walk back over to the others. Pete looked dead inside. 

Pete cleared his throat and spoke very quietly. “You’re all my best friends, and I love you, but you’re all fucking terrible.”

The other three nodded.

“You cockblock me, you eat my food, you clog my sink, you use my gas, and you drain every last pound from my wallet.”

The other three nodded again.

“I am considering homicide simply because you guys don’t know how to knock on a goddamn bedroom door before walking in. I will spare your lives only because you can actually play your instruments damn better than any hippy band ever could.”

The other three nodded in agreement. “Yeah, fair enough.”

Keith tried to go in for a group hug, but Pete stopped him immediately. “No. Fuck that. This time, you’re all waiting for me. And I swear to god, I deserve this.” He broke away from Roger to open the trunk of the van. Pete opened the suitcase and pulled out the porn magazine they had jokingly packed, and stomped angrily into the gas station to get to the washrooms.

There was a small stretch of silence before John said, “I bet five quid he’ll finish and be back out in five minutes.”

Keith shook his head. “From personal experience, I’d say seven and a half minutes.”

“The poor guy’s been on edge for a day and a half now,” Roger shook his head solemnly. “I bet two minutes, tops.”

They all frowned out of pity, and then took out their wallets.

 

 

-THE WHO AND LED ZEPPELIN WILL RETURN…-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THERE WE GO!
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, let me know what you thought! Let's relive our favourite moments. <3
> 
> BONUS DRINKING GAME:  
> Take a shot every time...
> 
> -Pete is frustrated  
> -Someone is personally victimized  
> -The characters get into a van  
> -Genitalia is referenced  
> -There's a Freudian slip from me or one of the characters  
> -Pete's guitar fetish slips out  
> -You feel bad for Roger  
> -Someone blushes  
> -I wrote a run on sentence  
> -I should have used a comma but didn't  
> -I used too many commas
> 
> JUST KIDDING DON'T PLAY THIS GAME BC I DON'T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR PUSHING YOU TO ALCOHOL POISONING
> 
> Anyways I love you guys, thanks for reading, and stick around! I still have a ton more coming!


End file.
